Caveat Emptor
by Rat
Summary: JackAna When the market is for bodies and the supplier is picking off pirates, who is the one most needing to beware the other? COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

**Caveat Emptor**

A low fog rolled in over the bay, encompassing Port Royal's night in a muffling gloom.  Many who remembered the incident of the cursed Black Pearl arriving in their harbour remained in their homes with their doors and windows locked and barred.  The difference between natural and evil is subtle, and though most can _feel_ it, they choose not to see it.  

Droplets of water falling from the rooftops filled the alleyways, and one man's boots sloshed through the numerous puddles.  He walked slowly, one hand close to his sword, the other slightly extended from his body and seeming to keep rhythm to an unheard beat.  

The newer and more affluent neighbourhoods of Port Royal boasted glass windows, but this was not one of them.  Windows were either left open, or shuttered with rotted planks of wood or tattered cloth.  The lone man in the alley stopped for a moment and turned to his right towards a two-story rooming house faded grey with time, and looked up.  

To all appearances, the building looked deserted.  He stepped closer and reached out for the door on his left.  At his touch, the handle fell and clattered to the cobblestones, sending a dull clang echoing into the night.  The door swung open, and Captain Jack Sparrow stepped inside.  

An old lantern hung by the door, and it took several minutes to coax a flame to the worn wick.  If anyone did remain in the building, they defiantly knew of his presence by now, but that was better than the prospect of wandering around blind.  He wasn't here to be stealthy anyhow; the person he sought had specifically asked to be found.  

Jack whistled softly, anyone deliberately hiding here had to be out of his or her mind, or desperate, and sneaking up on either possibility didn't sit well with the pirate.  The door squealed on its rusted hinges as it swung closed behind him.  "Is anybody there?"

Only silence met his query, and old boards groaned under the weight of his boots.  Things were not right here, and he could not place one cause for his unease because it came from everywhere.  

It took time to search the entire building even though the multiple rooms were bare of furniture and belongings.  Just because there were no beds or tables, did not mean nothing was left behind.  Evidence of the former tenant's poor housekeeping could be seen in the decaying crumbs and debris caked into the corners.  Cobwebs stretched from rafter to wall and though most of them looked fresh, higher up Jack could see the remains of web that might have been years old.  One upstairs bedroom kept his attention longer than the others.  Empty like the rest it looked the same at first glance, but the door caught his attention.  The bolt for this door lay on the outside.  

Interesting.  

The window was boarded up tightly, not even the wind could find it's way in through the planks lined carefully up to the frame.  And there were marks.  Faint scratches along the boards, darkly stained in some places.  Jack found the same at the door.  Scratch marks from human fingernails, and the dark stains were blood.  

A faint rustling sound like dried leaves moving through the wind came from behind his back, but when he looked, the silence had returned and still there was nothing to see.  "Is anyone there?"  Jack called out again, louder this time.  

Nothing answered.  

Rising to his feet, Jack held the lantern high and made his way back through the house.  Just before leaving back into the alley, he turned and looked into the bleak interior once more.  "I came.  I kept my word."  The words echoed against the walls and made his voice sound hollow.  

Again nothing answered.  

Jack turned to the door and stepped outside, back into the night.  

"So, did you find 'em?"

Still dripping rain, Jack walked into the tavern and took a seat beside his first mate.  "Found th'house.  Didn' find the man."  He reached over and plucked the drink out of her hand to take for his own self.  In answer to Anamaria's look of disgust, he simply shrugged and downed what was left.  

"That means we are done here."  Anamaria pushed back her chair and stood up, ready to leave.  

It took a moment for him to argue the point, and Jack raised up one hand with his index finger pointing to the ceiling.  "Not precisely."  The finger now pointed directly at Anamaria.  "We've still got a man t' find."

"We?"  

He grinned.  "We."  The tavern felt unnaturally quiet compared to the places the pirates normally preferred, but it would do.  Port Royal may be the prude of the Caribbean with its Royal Navy scurrying about, but there were places for its more unsavoury elements to come and relax.  Places like this one, where even on the best of days you didn't ask what went in the stew.  

The only hitch came in convincing his crew that staying a few extra days wouldn't be so bad as it seemed.  Considering that it was his own self who almost got hung a couple years back, it would follow that he should be the one with the biggest reason to stay clear of Commodore Norrington.  The crew however, believed the invitation to hang extended to every member on board the Black Pearl and not just its Captain, and they were probably right.  

But how hard could it be to behave for a few days?  He'd have left them in Tortuga if he thought that they couldn't manage it, and indeed the ones he knew could not manage it did stay in Tortuga for a short vacation.   

"What d'ya say t'this?"  Jack leaned towards Anamaria, who to this point remained standing with her hands firmly planted on her hips.  "We take a quick look 'round, make a few inquiries, an if we find 'em, great.  However, if we take a quick look an 'e is not t'be found, then I stay in Port Royal and you sail with the crew back to Tortuga and wait for me.  How's 'at for a plan?"

"I don't like it.  Last time you were here, it was for the gallows.  You can't 'ave forgotten that."

"Ah, but t'wasn't here I got caught.  I haven't forgotten and as I recall it was because of a missing ship that I ended up there at all."

"The first time, Jack."  

"Again, not my fault.  And I think our Mrs.Turner is over with taking dives off cliffs.  So it's settled then."  

"No, Jack."

"The sooner we look for Morris Ettie the sooner we get off this piece of rock."  He stood up, still dripping from rain, and sloshed over to the bar to order himself his own drink, plus one for his lady.  

_Authors note_: Thanks to everyone reading, and to my beta-reader for making it readable.

This is a mystery story… based on a true case, but I cannot say what one because that would be giving too much away.  So… on with the story and I hope you keep reading. 


	2. And the wheels are grinding

**Chapter 2  And the wheels keep grinding**

"And just how do you propose to find him?" 

At least she was sitting now and ready to share a drink.  When she did that, Jack knew he had half the battle already won.  

"I've a plan."  After a quick look around to ensure there were no eavesdroppers, Jack leaned in close and whispered the rest of it.  "I'll ask someone where 'e is."  

Not giving her a chance to respond, Jack stood up and surveyed the tavern once more.  Smoke rose into clouds from several tables, and one of those tables in particular caught his interest.  The only thing more popular than Caribbean rum was Caribbean weed, and both worked just as well as the other in loosening a man's tongue.  

Glassy eyes and vacant stares identified who partook most of the sweet smelling drug, and Jack pulled up a chair and plopped him self down at the table.  To their credit, the three men sitting round the table did notice Jack's arrival, but only barely.  The least far-gone of the three, he wore a round cap with a white feather on the top, blinked owlishly and offered a lopsided grin as welcome.  He was also the one to pull the small stash of herb away from the interloper.  

"I recon'ize yah."  The man drawled softly.  "Ain't ya dead er som'ting?"  

"Not since I last checked."  Jack explained.  Being recognised wasn't such a great thing given that the Navy posted a bounty; especially since most of the fine men occupying this tavern would likely sell their own mothers for half the price on his head.  Jack felt he had a right to feel a mite paranoid in that respect, not paranoid enough to change his distinctive look of course, that would be too close to letting the bastards win.  "Name's Smith."  

Not original, but again, it was likely half the men in the tavern were named Smith for exactly the same reason.  

The three at the table seemed content with the name, especially with a bag of coins now placed on the table between them.  "Any of you gen'lemen know of a Morris Ettie?"  Might as well get to the point quickly, seeing as he doubted small talk would be very successful with this bunch.  

The men looked at the bag of coins.  "We get some bits if we know o' im?"  

Jack nodded and jingled the bag as incentive.  "Not just know _of_ 'im, but know _where_ to find 'im."

"'E shared a room ov'r on Bandy Lane wit' 'is friend Sloan, last I saw o' im."  

Jack nodded, that was where he just came from.  "And now?"

"'E's dead now."  The third man spoke up, and giggled a bit from the effort.  After choking a bit on his next puff, he continued.  "Won' be findin' 'dat one anywheres but in d'ground."  

"Dead of what?"

The first one continued with a look of disgust.  "Got ''imself a dose of 'is own med'cin is wot 'e did.  Serves 'im right to for wot 'e done."  

"An what kind of medicine is that?"  Jack sat back and prepared his self for a game of twenty questions.  Why was it when a man wanted information he received only cryptic riddles in response?  

"Sloan 'ould kill us if we tells ya."  The man leaned over and spat on the floor.  "Go see 'im and let 'im kill yer ownself in stead."  

Then again, maybe no so long a conversation if they clammed up on him.  At least he now had another name to work with.  "An' where could I be finding' Sloan?"

It took a while to get anything coherently agreed on by the three men so far as location was concerned.  Either Sloan could be found in Russell's cane, or Ronald's game, or Russet Lane.  Of the three Jack supposed he have most luck on Russet Lane.  

Anamaria continued to glare at him as he made his way to her.  

"Ready to go?"  He asked.

"Back to the Pearl?  Yes."

"Russet Lane."  He snatched her arm and pulled her up off the chair.  It took some work to get her out of the tavern, but she didn't fight as hard as she might have.  

"What's on Russet Lane?"  

Jack couldn't help but feel a little self satisfied at convincing her to follow along this far.  "Sloan."

"I thought we were looking for Morris Ettie."

"An' Sloan knew, an' likely killed, Morris Ettie.  Thus, he is the one we want to talk to."

That stopped her in her tracks.  "Wait, the man you're searching for is DEAD?"

"Possibly."  When she decided to hold her ground, Jack couldn't budge her.  "'Possibly not.  An' possibly 'e's not the only one.  However, 'e is the only one who asked me for help, luv.  Jus' cause 'e's dead, doesn't mean there's not'in I can't do 'bout it."  

Reluctantly she gave in, again.  "Do ya even know where Russet Lane is?"  

The fog in the streets seemed to grow thicker the farther they walked.  "Course I do."  Jack answered.  "Been 'ere more times 'n I can remember."  Which translated to he couldn't remember ever being here at all, but he wasn't about to tell Anamaria that.  

The lack of street signs wasn't a surprise, not in a neighbourhood where most of the population couldn't read.  

"We could ask for directions.  Someone around here'll know."

"I don't need directions."  He turned left down the next alley and they nearly walked into a brick wall.  

"You know exactly where you're goin'."  Anamaria mocked.  

He stopped, finally.  "And you could do better, I suppose?"  

Anamaria lifted her chin defiantly and stalked towards the nearest door.  After a minute of knocking, the door opened a crack and an old woman's face peeked out.  She held the door open just a slit; barely enough to stick her nose out and looked at Anamaria appraisingly.  Her eyes caught sight of Jack after that and her eyebrows narrowed into a frown.  "What you want?"

"Directions.  Where is Russet Lane?"  Anamaria asked.

The eyes shifted back towards Jack.  "An who is 'e?"  

"Do ya know where it's at or don't ya?"  Anamaria pressed.  

The woman shrugged.  "Yer business don't concern me none.  Russet Lane's attaway."  She motioned back in the direction from where they'd come.  "An' don' ye be tellin' no one I said so." 

The door slammed before any word of thanks could be said.  Not that any thanks would have been offered.  'Attaway' didn't exactly create a detailed road map for them to follow.

It took yet another half an hour to find the lane.  It didn't take much to find Sloan after that, Anamaria asked after his name once, and they were immediately directed to the third rooming house on the left.  

Sloan stood a head taller than anyone Jack had ever met.  Big he may be, but Jack knew big seldom-equalled fast.  Before any invitation could be offered, Jack slipped past and sauntered inside the room, leaving a trail of rain puddles on the floor.  

The door slammed shut seconds after Anamaria likewise pushed inside, and Sloan looked none too pleased at the unannounced company.  "Who're you?"  

For the second time in one night, a record so far as Anamaria was concerned; Jack proceeded to get to the point as soon as possible.  "Ever heard of Morris Ettie?"

"So?"

That could be a yes.  "I'd be looking for him, mate.  You know 'im?"

"What'cha lookin' for 'im for?"  Sloan pressed.  

"Owes me money."  Jack explained while eyeing the small room carefully.  Anamaria stood off to one side, and she watched Sloan flexing his fingers into a fist in repeated nervous repetition.  

The room felt cramped with three bodies in it, and Sloan made certain he kept himself plenty of space for whatever might come next.  "Good luck collecting money from a dead man then."

"Dead?"

"Aye, dead.  'E owed me money too, but not much to done 'bout it after the buckets been tipped."  

"How'd he die?"  

Sloan shrugged.  "Owed the wrong man money, an' the right man come to collect."  His teeth gleamed yellow and rotten when he smiled.   

"Was into a new business was what I heard."  Jack continued the conversation, but his inquiry was met only with a short laugh.  

"Business eh?"  Sloan bit a fingernail and chewed on it for a while before spitting it out onto the floor.  "An' what kind'o business is this you heard about?"

"The profitable kind, which is of course, the only worth while kind.  You wouldn't be knowin' anything 'bout that now would ye?"

The big man didn't answer, but Anamaria could practically hear the gears grinding in his head.  Finally he answered, "I'll let you in on this, there ain't any laws against disposing of what's not alive, now is there?  The trick is in finding useful goods for the right buyer."

"So it is in any business.  But your business be dealing with people would it not?"

"Dead people."  The man shrugged, but part of his demeanour changed.  Obviously, he wasn't expecting Jack to catch what was said as quickly it was caught, and Ana continued to watch him carefully for any sudden moves.  "An' as I've said.  There ain't any laws against it."

"Not unless you'd be the one to guarantee the dead part, mate."  Jack warned, but he grinned a moment later and leaned back against the wall.  "But then what's against the law is only illegal if you're caught.  People like us, we're just stretchin' limits, as it were."  Jack considered the situation for a minute.  "To make it worth while, you've got a constant buyer I imagine.  A wealthy buyer, in need of plenty o'goods."

Sloan scrunched his face into a lump as he thought things through, but couldn't seem to come to any definite conclusion.  "What you be getting' at mate?"

Jack grinned like the cat that caught the canary.  "I'm thinking someone's going to be noticing a shortage of bodies after a while, don't you think?  I'm thinking, maybe it's time you branched out to other ports somewhat, and I'm thinking I've got a ship that could help you out with that."

"It's a thought."  Sloan answered.  "How 'bout we meet tomorrow and discuss business then?"

Jack nodded his agreement and they set up a time to meet around noon at the Tavern near the docks.  Then they walked out, back into the rain. 

Authors note:  I know its been a while since my last post… school and travel have interfered with my concentration, but I promise that is over with now.  I mean, what comes first in life?  Family, work, friends?  No!  It is satisfying the gremlin that is forever chewing a hole through my skull and urging me to write more and more and more, that is the priority.   


	3. Open Invitations

**Chapter Three**

****

The house lay dark and presumably sleeping.  It was considerably less than the governor's mansion, and considerably more than what one would expect from the home of a blacksmith's apprentice.  But then, Will Turner was no longer a Blacksmith's apprentice.  

Moreover, Will Turner had presumably given up his three hour a day sword practice all-the-better-to-kill-a-pirate-with obsession, or so at least Jack hoped, in so far as much as this particular pirate was concerned at least.  This was how he found no qualms about making himself at home at the Turner's new home.

"We've an open invitation, remember?"

Anamaria sighed heavily.  "No.  I remember hearing, stop by t' say hello if you're in town.  Not, feel welcome to break into my home in the middle of the night."

Life would have been easier if the door were simply unlocked, and amazingly enough Jack even tried and found it locked before happily trotting off to test a window instead.  Having rained all night, the window was closed, but not locked.  "Practically an invitation."

"We could knock."  

Jack ignored her and pushed open the window.  "We could alert the entire port that there's a pirate ship anchored just off the coast too, but we wont."  Carefully he pulled himself up and inside.  That's where his plan didn't follow so close to what he was wanting.  Breaking glass and muttered curses quickly followed the sound of something hard hitting the floor.

As much as it could be said that Jack was the most fearsome pirate of the Caribbean Sea, not much could be said for his skill on land.  Anamaria crawled in after him, with much more success, but then Jack had already been thoughtful enough to clear off the window ledge with his own entry.  

Complete darkness filled the house was, and Ana could see nothing of whatever might be around her.  This was a day to remember, to be sure.  Following Jack on a fools errand was one thing, breaking into a friend's house was another.  Just as she was about to ask, in the most snarky voice possible, _now what, _the distinct sound of metal whipping through the air beside her ear interrupted her thoughts.  

Another piece of furniture hit the floor as a thud and grunt came from somewhere to her right.

"Stop this NOW!  Does no one consider lookin' at what they're fightin' b'for attacking it anymore?"  Ana stomped her foot down for emphasis and to get as much attention as possible in the darkness.

"Anamaria?"  Will Turner asked.

"Will Turner?"  Ana asked back, mocking Will's befuddled tone. 

"Jack?"  Will asked next.  

"Bloody hell, just turn on a light already."  Jack answered.  

Seemingly appearing at his request, a lantern illuminated the room, showing it to be a well furnished sitting room.  A table close to the window lay on its side with a vase broken on the floor beside it.  Jack and Will were also on the floor to Ana's right, both looking somewhat sheepish at the mess.  Elizabeth held the lantern high, and as she surveyed the room, a furtive smile curved her lip.  "I assume there is a good explanation for all this."

"The vase you mean?  'Fraid not."  Jack stood up slowly, all the while carefully assessing the room.  Not that he intended on stealing from friends, but habits were hard to break, and getting the lay of ones surroundings was a good idea no matter where you might be.  

"Are there not doors on pirate ships anymore?  Or is it you simply forgot how to use one?"  Elizabeth stepped up to stand beside her husband.  

"Jack's idea."  Anamaria explained before Jack could get a chance to.  "Best way not to cause a disturbance apparently."  

Elizabeth cast one last look to the vase and nodded.  "Of course."  

"You're both soaked to the bone."  Will turned towards the kitchen briefly, and Elizabeth was reminded of a less confident version of the man she now stood beside.  "I'll get a fire started in the stove, boil something.  Elizabeth, care to help?"  

His wife stared at him as though he'd gone daft, but followed none the less.  "What was that all about?"  

Will stuffed a few logs in the stove and went about making a fire, just like he said he would.  "They aren't here to visit us, Elizabeth.  Something's up, I can feel it."  

"Which is exactly why we should ask them."

"Ask what exactly the two most infamous pirates of the Caribbean are doing on your doorstep on a dark and stormy night?"  Jack drawled from the doorway.  

The flames caught the dry wood and danced into life as Will closed the iron door and stood up.  "Yes Jack.  Why are you here?"  His eyes travelled from Jack to Anamaria, and back to Jack again.  "What's wrong?  Is it the Pearl?"

With naught but a slight flick of his wrist, Jack dismissed Will's concern.  "It's not the Pearl nor it's pirates who're in trouble lad, not yet at least."  His eyes searched the kitchen carefully before coming to rest on a bottom cupboard.  One cunning look cast at Elizabeth and Jack was down on the floor pulling pots out from under the counter.  

"Jack?"  Will frowned and stared at Elizabeth as Jack triumphantly reached deep into the cubbyhole and pulled out a dusty bottle of rum, holding it up like a trophy.  "Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth looked at Jack.  "How did you know?" 

Jack searched out four glasses, and proceeded to pour.  "Where else would it be, luv?  Now, lets have a sit down and I'll explain everything needing to be explained."  

…

"And so, here we are, my friend is dead, and others are going missing and also likely ending up dead.  I don't know where the bodies are going, yet, but I intend to find out."  He looked specifically at Elizabeth and tilted his head slightly to the side.  "This is where you come in.  You bring your bloody friend Norrington into the mix, so that he can play the hero and save the day, and I and my crew can sail happily into the sunset and live happily ever after.  Savvy?"  

She nodded.  "And what if Commodore Norrington decides to hang you instead?"

"But he wont."  Jack answered confidently.  He was about to say something else when his eyes travelled south for just a second before looking back up at her face.  

"So, you've been doing well for yourselves here, have you?"  Once more, his eyes roved to her bodice, before looking back up to meet Elizabeth's confused expression.

At his sly wink, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she asked, "What?"

"You.  You, my dear, have _filled out_."  He raised his hands to imitate a woman's form.  "Blossomed in fact.  Married life really agrees with you."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped, and Will choked on his drink.  Jack, looking confused at the chain of reactions at the table opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Anamaria delivered a swift kick to his shin hard enough to make him yelp.

Anamaria glared at him with the promise of further violence should he proceed to continue his comments on Elizabeth's physical appearance.

"What?"  From her look, he inferred what he said was obviously not being taken in the appreciative spirit it was meant to be.  Even Will, now fully recovered, looked ready to throttle him.  And so, Jack poured himself the last few drops of rum.  "Ye wouldn't have any more rum around now would ye?"

Elizabeth's complexion paled, she clamped a hand over her mouth, and jumped out of her chair racing from the room.  Ana ran after her a moment later, pausing only long enough to give Jack yet another frosty look.  

"Was it something I said?"  Jack asked innocently.  If it weren't for the twinkle in his eye, he might have even been forgiven.  

Will stared at Jack for a minute before muttering something about going to the smithy.  "Coming with me?"  

Jack shrugged.  What choices were there?  Stay at the house with two hysterical and unfathomable women, or hang out in a smelly blacksmith shop.  Decisions, decisions.  The sound of retching in the other room reaffirmed the choice, and Jack gladly followed Will out of the house.  

Though it was the same shop, it looked decidedly different than it had the last time Jack graced it's interior.  The shop used to hold a stale air, signifying that its best days had already come and gone.  Now, the air felt charged with something new and great gathering strength on the horizon, a magnificent storm on the verge of breaking.  A sense of pride swept over Jack; pride for his friend and all he accomplished since they last met. 

"Jack," Will contemplated his friend uneasily before resolving to go ahead and somehow speak his mind.  "There's something wrong with Elizabeth."

The seriousness of Will's voice caught Jack's attention, and his mood sobered.  "What about her?  Is she ill?"

"No.  I don't know, she's been throwing up, but she refuses to see a doctor.  She won't talk to me about it, and she's been acting different lately.  Strange, irritable."  

"S' called being married, lad.  It's what happens t' women, something about the vows makes the head go funny.  No way around it.  Women are difficult enough to deal with, without having the wedding thing driving them mad on top of it."

"Jack."  Will's voice held a hint of warning not to discuss the topic further.  

Jack sat down and picked up a work in progress to study the blade as he considered what to say next.  

…

Anamaria stood at Elizabeth's side and held the girls hair back while she emptied the contents of her stomach into a chamber pot.  "How far along are you?"

Elizabeth stood up shakily and placed a hand on her belly.  "You can tell?"

"Hard to miss."  She smiled kindly.  "Congratulations."  

"No one else knows yet, not even Will.  I don't know how to tell him, because I'm not even sure how I feel."  For all the confidence in Elizabeth's mannerisms, she now simply looked tired and scared.  "I don't know what's happening to me.  I cry one second, and then I'm laughing the next.  I can't tell if I'm hot or cold, I'm eating more than I've ever eaten in my life and still I feel hungry.  It's like my body doesn't belong to me anymore."

Anamaria reached out and took Elizabeth's hand lightly in her own.  "It will pass.  Is there anyone you can speak to?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.  "Like who?  Any respectable friends I did have are frightened to be seen in my presence.  Apparently being kidnapped by pirates has irrevocably tarnished my reputation."  

"And what about the not so respectable friends?"  

The meaning behind the question was not lost on Elizabeth, and she bit her tongue at her lack of tact.  "I didn't mean..."

"Yes you did.  It's understandable that you're frightened, I was terrified too when…"

"You have a child?"

"Had.  I lost her in her second year."  

For a minute Elizabeth didn't know what to say, she'd never considered that Anamaria might have at one time been a mother.  "I'm sorry."  

"There is nothing to be sorry about.  She was a gift, as you're child will be."  

"What was it like?"

Though it still rained outside Anamaria opened the window to let in some fresh air.  These memories she didn't often reflect on, and thinking on them now brought back both the pain and joy.  "Like being taken over by demons, but wonderful all at the same time.  Or at least that was how it felt for me at the time." 

She closed her eyes and remembered back all those years ago when she'd been young and all the mysteries of life lay ahead of her like so many jewels waiting to be discovered.  She placed one hand on her belly remembering the feel of a new life moving inside her. 

"There is nothing else like it, Elizabeth."  Anamaria confessed.  The deeply charged emotion in the air made them both miss the slight rustle of bushes outside the window, and the man crouched there.  "Having a baby is the best thing that's ever happened to me."  

A cold draft caught the back of her neck, and Anamaria slowly paced across the room and away from the window.  Unwittingly she also moved out of range of the man lurking outside to catch any more of their conversation.  But in that brief moment, Sloan believed he heard enough.  The pirate wench was pregnant.  Good news indeed, he wondered how much money his contact would reward him with for the fresh corpse of a pregnant woman.  

Authors note:  I am always thanking Julie(jackfan2) for all her help, and I've got to do it again with this chapter especially.  Writing has been moving slowly for me lately, and talking to her is what keeps me from giving up.  Some days that would be oh so easy to do.  Thanks to every one who's been reading.  Love ya all.


	4. In The Absence of Thought

**Chapter 4  In The Absence of Thought**

In the absence of thought, there is always the promise of rum.  Jack, unable to come up with anything helpful to offer Will, decided rum was definitely the best course of action. 

"What say you we go out and find ourselves a proper evening's entertainment, eh?" 

Will looked up, confusion clear on his face.  "What?"

"Entertainment."  Jack repeated.  "You know, that thing you do when there's nothing else to be done?"  

"What are you suggesting?"

"Boy, you live in a town that was once known for its hospitality, before the Navy came and spoiled it that is.  The back streets, not so far from here, contain any number of interesting past times.  The perfect distraction for a situation like yours."  

A rush of cold air swept through the room as the door opened and slammed shut.  "What sort of situation would that be?"  Anamaria asked.  Elizabeth stood beside her.  

"The situation of a lack of rum.  We seem to have run out."  He held out his cup for inspection, and indeed, it was dry.  

Anamaria snatched the cup and frowned.  "That's not your only situation Captain.  I think its time we left the Turners some space to talk.  Don't you?"  

Jack rolled his eyes, but followed her out of the shop and back into the Turner's kitchen.  Before he could sit down or even turn around, she whirled at him and brought her hand hard across his cheek.  

He reeled back from the sudden sting of the blow.  "Now I imagine you'll explain exactly why I deserved that."  

"You know exactly what you said!"

With no defence, Jack picked up the empty rum bottle and did what he could to coax one more drop out of it and into his parched throat.  "How was I to know the lad's even more dim than I thought possible?  Even a blind man could see the girl is heavy with child."

"Is that so?"

Jack arched his eyebrows.  "I'd notice if it were you."

Anamaria took a slow breath.  "Would you?"

"Of course."  Setting down the bottle, Jack advanced a step and wrapped her in his arms.  "I know your body better than you do, luv.  I know that when I do this…"  He turned her head slightly and nuzzled behind her ear, making her back arch in response.  "And when I do this…"  He leaned against her just a bit closer and applied slight pressure where he needed to.  

"I think they plan to be a while out in the shop.  We could lock the door…have some privacy."

Ana pushed him off and just about slapped him again.  "We can't lock 'em out o' their own house."  

Jack shrugged.  "You're loss."  

Ana felt like screaming.  "And you're so sure you know me that well, are ya?"

A gold toothed grin mocked her exasperation.  "They've a guest room I imagine.  Be an interesting change on a real mattress, don't you think?"

She did scream this time, and stomped out the door.  

"So that's a no?"  He called out after the door slammed shut after her.  As expected, he got no response. 

…

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  

The noise filled the kitchen, and his head, with a ringing unlike any Jack could imagine coming from animal or machine.  

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The chair he fell asleep on lost balance under the sudden movement of his waking up, sending him plummeting backwards to the floor.  Where he stayed.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Until the sound yet again repeated and brought him back into something resembling reality.  "Stop that blasted screaming already?  Please?"

A woman stood by the door; her back pressed up against the wall as far as she could get away from him.  Her eyes were ludicrously big for her face, and her mouth remained open in an O even after the sound ceased.  

"Mr Turner!"  She yelled out again, and the paralysis that had gripped her suddenly dissolved into a frantic dash towards the hall.  Jack caught her wrist as she swept past him, making her swing around and thump ineloquently into his chest.  

"I'd put a end to the hollerin' if I was you miss."  He held the girl close, close enough that he could feel her heart pounding beneath her breast.  "Yer not only fillin' the house with yer noise, but likely the street as well.  An we don' want someone thinking a girl is bein' murdered, do we?"

"No sir."  Her breath came in short little gasps and he worried she might pass out.

"An' what else might we not want people thinkin' is going on in here?"  Jack asked.  If he could talk her into getting scared enough to pass out, that would definitely solve the screaming problem.

Her cheeks blushed a bright red and her breathing quickened even further.  Little droplets of tears welled up in her eyes as she considered his insinuation.  "I think I know who you are."  

"An who is that?"

"The pirate, Captain Sparrow.  Everyone knows 'o you are, ever since you escaped the hanging."  The tears ceased before they began as she calmed down considerably, but her breathing remained quick and shallow and her cheeks stayed pink.  "Please sir, I'll do what ever you ask of me.  I've 'eard tales."  Her eyes darted downwards as she smiled shyly.  "I'll not struggle.  Unless that's what you want…"

In as interesting a development as this, Jack played with the thought of continuing the ruse just a little longer; and he considered just how much he could get this spit of a girl to agree to doing before giving up the game.

Nevertheless, as usual, interruptions got in the way of fun as Will Turner came down the stairs and regarded them both suspiciously.  "What are you doing with my maid?"

Two hasty steps in retreat, and Jack smiled briefly.  "Jus sayin' 'ello."

Will turned to the maid.  "Sally, you're okay?"

She looked down at her shoes, then up at the pirate, then back down at her shoes with only the slightest hint of grin.  "Mr Sparrow was offerin' t' show me how to…  he offered to show me how to raise his sails."  Her lashes fluttered as she looked back up at Jack.  

A frown creased Will's features, but he didn't press for any further explanations.  "Where's Anamaria?"  

Jack cleared his throat.  "Not sure exactly.  But, I suspect she'd be back at the rooms we've rented back at the Docks.  Which is where I should be off to momentarily."  He turned back to Sally the maid and offered an apologetic smile.  "Sorry luv, maybe some other time for the lesson, eh?"

She blushed prettily as she nodded.  

"And Will.  Remind 'Liz'beth 'bout what we talked about last night.  Set up the meeting tonight perhaps?"

"I will."  

And with that, Jack backed out of the kitchen.  Not a bad start to the morning.  Not bad at all.  

Not until he walked strait into…  

Ah damn…

Commodore Norrington.  

There was a moment of shock in which neither man reacted, and then the ruckus started.  Jack ducked, Norrington drew his sword, and Jack scurried back into the Turner's kitchen to hide behind the maid.  

The maid started anew with her screaming.  "EEEEEEEEEE!"

"Mr. Turner, I presume there is an explanation for this."

"Uh."

Elizabeth entered the room; cool as can be, despite the chaos taking place around her.  "Commodore Norrington, it's a pleasure to see you this morning."  

"Elizabeth.  I received your message.  I must admit this is not what I expected."  He nodded towards her in greeting, but kept his blade pointed at the maid, or rather the pirate behind the maid.  "Nonetheless, you're faithfulness to duty is appreciated in the apprehension of this pirate."  

She walked up and situated herself in front of her maid and -thus too Jack still hiding behind the girl-, and Norrington lowered his weapon.  "Jack is our guest, and I did not call you in order to have him arrested.  Jack was the one to request the meeting."

"Yes."  Jack stepped out from behind the women, but kept a close eye on Norrington's sword as he did so.  "Information I don't yet have in fact."  He amended, and cast a nasty look Elizabeth's way.  

"I have no interest in games, Mr Sparrow.  Any business conducted by you and I will best be done at the gallows."  He raised his sword once more.  "Elizabeth, move out of the way."

"No."  Will stood beside her, his hand now resting on the hilt of his own sword.  

"I do have some information, however."  Jack added quickly.  The situation was quickly getting out of hand and the last thing he wanted was a brawl started in the Turner kitchen.  

"Such as?"

"Have you noticed an alarming rate of bodies going missing?  Perhaps an increase in grave robbery?"  He stepped around Will and Elizabeth, and closer towards the Commodore.

"No."  

So much for that.  "Oh.  Well then.  Good day to you, and--."  The sword came up to his chest once again, the point pressing uncomfortably into the exposed flesh.  

"James, please just listen to what he has to say."  Elizabeth pleaded.

The Commodore considered, then nodded at the table.  "Sit down."  

Jack nodded agreeably and sat.  

The Commodore remained standing.  "Where is your ship?"

"The Pearl is in the bay.  The pirates belonging to the Pearl are roaming about your fair port, not so safe.  So, I'd really like to be concluding our business here as soon as possible and getting back to m' ship, if you don't mind."  Jack regarded the sword still pointed at his chest and offered a hopeful grin before continuing.  

"I've met a fine gent selling dead bodies recently, and I've reason to believe the bodies might not be so dead when he finds 'em to put on the market."  

"And who are these bodies being sold to?"

"That, I don't know, yet."  Again, he regarded the sword nervously.  "But I'll find out, just as I was intending to do.  I've no intention to interfere with you're fine port, Commodore.  And I'm sure whoever's purchasing these goods will be dealt with in a swift and efficient manner."  

"And what do you have to gain from this?"

"It's a personal matter."  Again with the sword nudging. Jack began to feel tired of being poked.  "A friend, acquaintance really, recently fell foul of the trade.  So you see, it's really none of my business and I'll be setting sail as soon as we're finished here."

"No so fast Mr Sparrow."

"Captain."  Jack corrected.

"Exactly when do you intend to procure this information you are hinting at?"

"Soon.  Today."  The pirate promised.  

Norrington lowered the blade.  "You will bring me this man's name by sunset, or yours will be the next neck to be stretched in our gallows.  Understood."

"Indisputably."  

…

As usual, the dock bustled with activity and the tavern even more so.  Jack spotted Gibbs sitting out on the step with a flask in hand.  "Remember the code."  Jack ordered, and Gibbs nodded back his understanding gravely.

As soon as Jack stepped into the tavern, the day deteriorated from bad to worse.  He sat down in a booth, happily starting on a fresh bottle of rum, when suddenly a dagger snaked over the back of the booth with a hand attached to it.  More importantly, the blade pressed sharply up into his neck.  One wrong move sideways and Jack would be learning how to breathe through his throat.  

"Sloan."  Jack greeted his new friend as amicably as possible in view of the circumstances.  

"Thinkin' t' set me up are ye?"  He growled into Jack's ear.  

"Considering yer plannin' on killin' me, don't see that as too fair an accusation."  

"Didn't consider killin' ya til I learnt you considered turnin' me over to the Navy."  Frank pressed the knife even harder into Jack's skin.  "No matter, I got me a nice bonus of it in any case.  The reward for expectant women 's five times that o' a reg'lar one."  

"What?"  Jack knew it couldn't be Elizabeth because he just saw her this morning.  But who would Sloan be referring to then?

"Yer girl, mate.  Thought I'd share with ye, b'fore killin' ye an' all.  That's assuming it's yours o' course."

Jack's blood ran cold.  Could Frank be referring to Anamaria?  "Y' got the wrong girl.  Mine's not pregnant."

Sloan laughed.  "Guess it ain't yer's then if she ain't seen' fit t' share wit' ye.  Heard her admit it herself.  Or maybe she ain't admitted it t' ye cause she ain't plannin' on keepin' it.  No matter now, 'f course, what with her bein' dead n' all."   

"Where is she?"

 "On a table bein' die-sected for all's I know." 

That was it.  Jack had been willing to play along with the threats so far, but with Anamaria potentially… being cut to pieces… wasting time was not an option.

However, the means of escape were presently limited.   

The hilt of the weapon was what he aimed to catch and so Jack swung his hand back and then forwards meaning to push the blade away from his person, but Sloan jerked to the side at the last second.  Though he avoided being sliced from ear to ear, Jack only did so by having his hand wedged between where the blade and his neck would be.  The right hand.   His sword hand.  

Having his palm slit was of course better than the alternative.  Slightly.  A sharp burning fire ran up his arm all the way to the shoulder and across his back as a thick stream of blood seeped from the wound in quick bursts.    

Left handed now, Jack jerked around and caught Frank Sloan by the hair.  For a big man with an even bigger reputation, he went down easy.  It only took Jack to reach out with the bloody hand to find a better hold to have the bastard retching on his knees.  

"You better pray she ain't dead, mate."  Jack said carefully.  The scene was starting to attract attention, and Jack hoped there'd be no well-meaning mob on the verge of chipping in some help on either side.  

Of course, his luck never held out for long.  A sword appeared at his side, pointy end held against the man on the ground, the other end belonging to the Commodore his self.  

"I trust you did not think I believed you."  Those words were aimed towards Jack before Norrington turned to Frank Sloan and demanded icily.  "Who do you supply the bodies to?"  

Jack watched Sloan squirm under the pressure of being questioned by the Commodore.  Blood ran down Jack's hand where he still gripped the criminal, rapidly forming a large stain down the front of his shirt.  

"Don't have a name, 'e pays in cash.  Over at that new school ey's got up on the hill, the doctor school."  Frank's eyes rolled at the sight of the continuing stream of blood seeping onto his person.  "Yer girl was alive when I delivered 'er this morning.  Might still be fer alls I know.  Ey's wantin' 'em fresh fer show, 'an so ey's the ones doin' the killin."  

Jack released him, and stepped backwards as two of the Commodore's men took over and bound Sloan's wrists in irons.  He hardly took notice as two others came and grabbed hold of his own arms as well.

The Doctor school…  it made sense that they'd want fresh cadaver's to work on.  If they found a man scrupulous enough to supply those bodies, how far might they be willing to reach outside the limits of ethics in the name of advancing science?

Anamaria was in danger, possibly dead.  Anamaria was pregnant.  No.  Not possible.  She told him her self, she wouldn't get pregnant, and what kind of coincidence was it to have both Elizabeth and Anamaria pregnant at the same time?  Not probably, but maybe possible.

This was what Gibbs always meant about women and bad luck.  A man gets his head all tied into knots in a sticky situation, and it's likely he's never going to come out of it again.  All the same, he couldn't keep his thoughts steady.  

And if Anamaria were pregnant, why wouldn't she tell him about it?  Could that be what all that talk last night was about?  He boasted about knowing her body so well, was it possible he chose not to see what was directly in front of his eyes?  

And why didn't she tell him?  

Distantly, Jack felt himself being pulled forwards, the soldiers griping his arms guiding him out of the tavern.  A cold numbness spread through his fingers even as his hand continued to bleed.

The sun seemed too bright, and the air too cold.  Jack knew Gibbs would be out there somewhere, and hoped the man would follow orders and keep out of it.  He felt the small procession stop, but somehow missed what was happening around him as thoughts of Anamaria, and possible plans on how to rescue Anamaria, buzzed around inside his head.  That is, he was unaware until pressure against his hand and the unexpected shock of contact sent waves of sensation racing up his nerves.  

The world around him careened back into glaring focus, and Jack became alert to the very real threat of Commodore Norrington standing directly in front of him.  Oddly, however, the Commodore was wrapping the wound and holding his wrist up to slow the stem of blood.  

"I will handle Captain Sparrow."  Norrington barked at his men.  "Get that man to the brig."  

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."  Jack echoed.  Did the Commodore just refer to him as Captain?  No, couldn't have.  The grips on Jack's arms vanished, and he found him self off balance without them, but Norrington quickly took up the slack and grabbed hold of an arm to keep the pirate upright.  

"Do not make me regret this."  Norrington warned and started guiding the way across the street.  They entered a small building and Jack found himself pushed back into a chair.  It was just as well to be sitting.  Things were feeling colder by the second, and fuzzier, and still he could feel slippery wetness soaking through the makeshift bandage and snaking down to his elbow.    

Anamaria remained the focal point in his thoughts.  With Norrington standing by his side with a secure hand on his shoulder, Jack expected the next stop to be the gallows.  As soon as an opportunity to escape presented its self, Jack would be gone.    

An old man, about as thick as he was tall waddled up to where Jack sat and regarded his new patient thoughtfully.  "Can 'e pay?"  

"Yes."  Norrington answered.  

Jack flinched as the old man roughly took hold of his right hand.  "Make a fist."  He ordered.  Jack did what he could through the numb creeping along his arm.  

"'E won't die if that's what e's here for."  The old man grunted.  "Yer wantin' t' save t' fingers?"  

Jack blinked.  Wanting to save?  As in not wanting to lose?

Norrington answered for him.  "That would be best."  

"Bloody right it would be best."  Jack agreed, but if it came to losing a few fingers or losing Anamaria, he'd gladly lose the fingers.  "Just stitch it up and be done with it.  I don't have time for this."  

The fat old man laughed.  "Stich it up 'e says.  I c'n stitch it alright, if'n you don't want use of 'at hand again.  Stitch it up, sure thing.  But if'n it's all the same t' you, t' would be better not t' 'ave ye strugglin' as I do it."  

Norrington's hand pressed down even harder on Jack's shoulder as the Doctor brought an old grey cloth up to Jack's face.  "NO!"  They intended to drug him while the Doctor did his work.  He'd seen it before, or at least heard of it before, in enough detail to recognise it now.  They couldn't drug him because he needed to find Anamaria.  Even as the cloth came up to his nose and mouth Jack willed himself to remain conscious and alert.  

Even as the darkness closed in around him, his last thoughts were on saving Anamaria.

Comments?


	5. Buckets of Luck

**Chapter Five, Buckets of Luck**

A lumpy knot of dread squirmed down Gibb's gullet after hearing Jack mention the code.  He wasn't so sure when it started to happen, but lately the code went from being a scant semblance of civility in a world which had none, to being something of a obstacle.  The almighty code, the pirates creed, a law for the lawless, Gibbs took another swig of ale and stifled a chuckle; one could go on for hours with the poetic descriptions.  But one slip of a girl explained it best, when things came down to it, the code was more of a guideline.

Right?

So, when he heard the scuffle starting inside the tavern, Gibbs got up off his arse and moved to help his Captain.

Right?

Not quite.  Gibbs did get up off his arse, but not to help.  He got out of the way.  If there were going to be a bunch of red coats getting involved, then he'd do best to stay quiet and keep an open eye for a bit.   

Captain Sparrow was escorted out of the tavern with the aid of two red coats.  The men pushed Jack forwards a bit, and that's when Gibb's caught sight of the blood.  

Too much blood.  

He even came out of his hiding spot behind the building somewhat to get a closer look.  No way was he standing back and doing nothing after the sight of that.  Was it Jack's blood?  Had to be, cause the other prisoner had already been dragged out and down the road, and there'd been no injuries on him.  

Blood covered Jack's arm, dripping down and off his fingers into little pools on the ground.  Gibbs watched as the Commodore stared at the pirate captain, and then halted his men from taking him farther.  That was odd.  All set and ready to take action, Gibbs hesitated again.  He remembered James Norrington.  He remembered a stuffy, stick-up-the-ass-soldier who seemed more mechanical than human.  

Right now, his stick-up-the-ass former commanding officer seemed to be escorting a well-known villainous pirate across the road to a… public surgery.  

Not exactly, the same James stick-up-the-ass Norrington that Gibbs remembered.  Curiosity and concern prodded Gibbs to continue following, and he made it to the door just as the fat doctor cupped a grey cloth over his Captain's face.  

"What the hell is going on here?"  

Norrington turned slowly to regard the intruder.  If there was any recognition, it did not show past the steely look in his eyes.  "You are a member of mister…"  He looked to the old surgeon meaningfully a moment before continuing.  "Smith's rabble I presume."

"I'd be that."  Gibbs admitted readily enough.

The doctor lifted one of Jack's eyelids and peered beneath for a moment before continuing with the assessment of his now unconscious patient.  He pulled up the injured arm and unwrapped the temporary bandage Norrington had wrapped around the wound.  Blood soaked the fabric and yet still continued to flow from the gash in the palm.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sinking.  That was how it felt.  In just a single breath, the world slipped through his fingertips and the fog rolled in.  Not just any fog, but a dense murky fog, a fog that could be felt, and when you breathed it in, you felt it become a part of you.  

Like all things at sea, the fog too held spirit, it knew you, and held you in its mercy until it was ready to let you go.  

And Jack was lost in it.  

There were so many things that ceased to matter.  All the things, (the Black Pearl), and all the people, (Anamaria), they grew in size even as Jack pulled away.  Jack Sparrow pirate extraordinaire, lost in the fog he could see clearly how little he mattered.  How easy it would be to simply, not be.  How tempting it would be.  How… comforting to simply stop.  

Stop.  

"I'm as competent as any o' t' fancy ass surgeons at t' fort.  Ask any one o' em if they's ever 'ad twenty men die on their table in one day, as I's bet 'ey'd say no."

The voice tore through the darkness, bringing with it a slice of cold wind that chilled Jack's body to the bone.  The wind chased away most of the fog.  

"Thank-you for helping him James."  This voice Jack recognised.  It belonged to the rum-burner, otherwise known as Elizabeth Turner.

Something touched his shoulder, a warm pressure; a hand.  "How long before he wakes?"

The whelp was so close that Jack could feel the boy's breath on his cheek.  Bloody stupid lot of them were talking like it was over a deathbed for god's sake.  

"E's awake now, young Turner."  The time came to now open his eyes and accept the inevitable return to the real world.  The pirate's attention shifted towards the Commodore standing by the window, the light behind him creating an iridescent backdrop even as it cast the man in comparative darkness.  

"Count yourself lucky to be here, Mr. Sparrow, and not in prison."

"Captain."  Jack corrected automatically.  "And aye, so its _luck_ that's rainin' down in buckets, is it?"  

"Luck is that you are not bleeding to death while waiting for a hangman's noose."  Norrington countered.

"And I've you to thank for that, I'm sure."  Jack pushed himself up, and cautiously rose to his feet.  "I've got to find Anamaria."  

"I can assure you the matter is being investigated."  The Commodore spoke in clipped tones.

"Ye' found Anamaria?"  Brief hope flashed in Jack's eyes.  

"The situation is more complicated than storming the building Mr Sparrow.  The addition of a medical training facility has brought prosperity and respectability to Port Royal.  I cannot simply raid the building based on rumours brought by pirates and brigands."

The momentary energy in Jack's eyes died.  "Of course, mate.  Whatever possessed me t' think the bloody Navy would raise a finger?  If it were noblemen being abducted, action would come swift and efficient.  But the poor beggars not attendin' the fancy to-do's up at the fort?  Might as well not even exist."

"This is not a matter of…"  Norrington's words were cut short as Jack lurched towards him.  

"S' not a matter at all is what the problem is." 

"It is a matter for the Navy to investigate properly.  Appropriate protocol must be followed if you wish justice to be served in this matter."

"Ap'ropriate protocol can hang.  A member of my crew is in t' care o' those bastards, an you better not expect me t' sit aside and let 'em kill 'er."

"And you can not expect me to allow you to partake in unlawful vigilantism."  The Commodore placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, but it was an empty threat because he turned and started walking towards the door, stopping only briefly to make one last statement.  "Ensure that whatever you do, it is done quietly, or the next time we meet your luck will not be so kind."  

"That went better than I imagined."  Jack muttered softly.  

Gibbs stood leaning against the wall on the other side of the room.  "Good to have you back Capt'n.  The Commodore told me about Anamaria, are we goin' after her?"  

"Bloody hell yes."

Will picked up Jack's blade and contemplated it thoughtfully.  "I'm coming with you."  

"No you're not."  Jack answered firmly.  

Will looked unconcerned by the dismissal and tossed the blade in Jack's direction, knowing the pirate would reach to catch it.

Instinctively Jack reached out to catch his blade right handed, bad mistake.  A shock of fire ran up his arm at the contact, and rather than be caught, the blade clattered to the floor.  

Things went blurry for a minute.  It took time to remember to breathe, and a bit more time after that to find a voice to curse with.  

"Ow."  The curse didn't come, he couldn't even articulate that much now that he was faced with yet another problem.  

"Bloody idiot."  The doctor, still in the room yet thus far ignored, yanked Jack's hand up and studied the bandage.  "S' barely been an hour and yer 'set t' undo my work."  The old man prodded at Jack's fingers a bit flexed and extended them, and then ordered the pirate to make a fist.  

The hand was just a hand after all.  He had another one did he not?  Maybe his left hand wasn't as good at aiming a pistol or swinging a blade, but it would make do in a pinch.  And, this qualified as a pinch.  

And yet another thing, he reminded himself, having his hand slit was still a much better option than having his throat slit.  Agreed?  Agreed.  Hooks were getting to be fashionable anyhow, and it was about time he thought about adding one to his accessories.

With that out of the way, Jack stood up, blade firmly clasped in his LEFT hand, and levelled it squarely towards the young meddling Turner couple.  

"Now, if you'll be so kind as to move out of the way."  Jack stepped cautiously past and towards the door.  "Doctor, I trust you've got a cloak, or a bag, or something doctory around here somewhere?"

"For what purpose?"

The pirate just grinned.  "Just answer the question mate."

The old man grunted and shuffled across the room towards an old chest where he dug out a dusty pile of ancient clothing.  "S' all I've got.  Back in the day, ye should o' seen me.  Ye wouldn't think it to look at me now, but I once served the likes of the wealthiest of the ton in London, I did.  Life time ago."  He cast a dubious eye towards his patient.  "What r' ye thinking o' doin' wit' em?"

Jack lifted the shirt from the top of the pile.  "Goin' back to school it would seem."  

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elizabeth couldn't contain herself.  The sight was just too much.  

Jack Sparrow dressed in a Surgeon's gown stood before them, beads and braids and golden teeth making it more than a little obvious that he was not a young wealthy medical student.

"It's not going to work Jack."  She held a hand over her mouth, hiding a grin she could not erase.  

"It will work."  He insisted.

Will stepped up and lifted one of the surgeon's gowns.  "I'll do it."  

Silence filled the room as the idea took root.  There was no way Jack could pass himself off as a medical student, but Will Turner?  The boy's acting skills were akin to that of a wooden board, but that might be exactly what was needed.  

It might just get them both right through the front door.

**Authors note**:  Okay, after a brief run of inspiration the well has run dry, and it was only with the help of Jackfan2 that all was not lost in the dust clouds of Writers Block.  Gasp!  

Please review, it really does help get the waters flowing, cause if it don't start flowing again soon I'll likely die of thirst before this fic is finished.  

-A man who views the world the same at fifty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life.   -Muhammad Ali


	6. Pirate's Honour

Quick recap seeing as it's been so long since the last post….

**Psst, you don't (as in DO NOT) need to read this bit if you've read the story so far**_,  THE STORY SO FAR (ahem…  Sloan is the bad guy who killed Jack's friend and Jack has discovered that Sloan is selling bodies to someone and seeing as this is Port Royal business and none of Jack's business he decides Norrington would be best to deal the whole justice thing but Sloan has kidnapped Anamaria and sold her to evil doctors who want cadavers to work on because Sloan thinks Anamaria is pregnant but Anamaria isn't pregnant Elizabeth is pregnant but Elizabeth is too daft to tell Will and Will is too daft to know on his own and so Jack meets with Sloan (Jack not knowing Anamaria was kidnapped) and Norrington follows and Sloan knows that Norrington followed even though Jack does not know Norrington followed and Sloan thinks Jack did know that Norrington followed and so Sloan is mad and tells Jack he kidnapped Anamaria cause she is pregnant and the doctors paid extra for a fresh pregnant cadaver and Jack is a little shocked at hearing that Anamaria is pregnant and possibly dead but he doesn't really believe she is pregnant or dead because Jack would know wouldn't he and why wouldn't Anamaria tell him she was pregnant and so Sloan tries to slit Jack's throat for revenge on Jack bringing Norrington around but Jack blocks the knife with his hand and has his hand cut deeply cut and there is lots of blood and Norrington in a moment of weakness takes Jack to a public surgeon rather than the jail and the surgeon stitches Jack's hand but Jack has lost some feeling in that hand and there is the question of infection and all that lovely stuff and also there is the question of possibly losing the hand cause it was such a DEEP cut and the main artery and possibly the nerve for the hand were cut too and if the fingers were without blood supply for too long the tissue will die but there is hope because there are other arteries that can take over for circulation so long as things start healing properly and so Jack gets patched up and wants to rescue Anamaria and Will comes with him because it is Jack's sword hand that is injured and Jack can not hold a sword and seeing as Jack doesn't look like a young wealthy doctor and Will might be able to pass as one …) ***author faints from saying all that in one breath***_

**_Chapter Six, Pirates Honour!_**

There comes a time in a man's life when he must come to terms with the fact that nothing is ever going to change.  You are who you are, and that is who you are going to be for the rest of your bloody life.  

Maybe it'll happen once or twice that you'll have an adventure and life will become worthwhile for that slip of time.  Nevertheless, things go back to the way they were.  Your thoughts drift back to the mundane equations of every day life.  How many pence for that, how am I going to pay for this?  What goods can I expect to appropriate from what ship?  It's all the same no matter who you are.  Except for maybe the last bit …

Life is spent collecting things, memories, sights, places, and people.  Life is spent hoping that maybe it'll be the next treasure found that makes the difference.  

That was what Jack found in Anamaria.  She made the difference in his life.

Keeping the things you find is another story all together.  People can be stolen just as easily as anything else can, and nothing is forever.  You're going to be alone for the rest of your life no matter how many bodies you've got collected around you, cause that's all anybody ever is.  Alone.  

"Jack?"

The pirate blinked and looked once more at the majestic old building blocking out the sun in front of him.  Will Turner stood, looking ridiculous, in a slightly tattered and very outdated doctoring costume lent to him by the public doctor.  Jack didn't fare much better in the wardrobe department.  Being cast the role of servant, Jack ended up wearing Will Turner's own itchy clothing.  It wasn't a good trade, and if any of his crew saw him wandering around in respectable type clothing like this, he'd never hear the end of it.  

"You've a thing on yer back."  Jack swept his hand just under the collar of Will's jacket and several pieces of ancient mummified moth drifted delicately to the ground.  The younger man twisted to inspect what was going on behind him, but didn't quite catch sight of it.  

"So, like we agreed then?"  Will turned his sight back towards the building in front of him, steeling himself for the mission to come.  

"We've only been over 't a million times."  Jack sighed, sick already of following the whelp's orders, and who said the whelp could take over anyhow?  

"And you will follow my lead?"

"Pirates' honour."  Jack nodded and held up his right hand in pledge.  The injured hand, but a glove hid the damage nice enough.  As soon as they were out of sight of the ruthless hack surgeon the bandages came off, and the sight of the repair work underneath didn't settle any fears.  The wound its self reminded him of week old shark bait, and as for the stitching; Jack saw better sewing made by a blind rat catcher.  

"We'll find her, Jack."  Will assured his friend, and with that, the young man bounded up the steps and entered the school the fragile grace of a lame donkey.  

:::::::::::

Anamaria pounded on the door and yelled till her throat turned raw.  That didn't work, and it didn't take her long to get bored of it.  This would more than likely be where the brute Sloan sold his bodies to, thus meaning she too now fit that category of a body sold.  It was a blessing that Jack had been wrong about one thing at least; Sloan didn't do the killing on his own.  This left her with ample time to contemplate whatever fate lay before her.  

Maybe being killed quick would have been for the best.  Being locked in the dark in a room barely big enough to sit down in naturally didn't raise one's spirits.  There was nothing else in the room with her, nothing to hasten escape.  

Anamaria was not afraid though, she felt only a cold anger burning deep within her, and that gave her strength.  The next man to open that door would find out exactly how dangerous a pirate can be.  

:::::::::::

It took all of five minutes for Jack to slip away from young Will Turner.  No offence to the lad, but really, the whelp would only get in the way.  He appreciated the assistance, posing as the servant of a wealthy young doctor-in-training was just the right trick to get him in the building, but the time for play was over.

Jack stuck to the servant halls; the unadorned, unwashed, and unpopulated bowels of the great house.  Here he found the storage rooms, and thinking about it, where else would they squirrel away a person?  It would have to be somewhere out of the way where no one would think to wander into, where no one would hear the struggles of a person locked up.  

Somewhere like here, where they stored old furniture and stained linens.  Most of the doors did not sport locks, and only one boasted a lock on a sturdy oak door.  Who would bother putting an expensive door on a storage closet?  The planning department of this little operation had to be somewhat daft, this door begged to be opened, and Jack was only too happy to oblige the request.  Fortunately, the lock on the chain was old and rusted, and needed only a little prodding to coax it free.  

The chain noisily rolled out from the metal handle, and he turned the handle.  

What happened next was unexpected, though maybe it should have been expected when considering who he anticipated to be on the other side.  

The door swung outwards, and sent Jack stumbling backwards by the shear force behind it.  Without even a moment's hesitation a crazed banshee flew out of the closet and landed on his chest, fists set and ready to pummel the living daylights out of whoever might be in the way.  What kind of evil could he possibly have unleashed… oh wait, it was Anamaria.  

"Wait!  It's me!"  It came out as something as a croak.

The banshee's fists hesitated.  "Jack?"

"Yea."

Anamaria got off him and stood up, looking down at the sight of her Captain in the strange clothing.  "I didn't recognise ye."  

Slow, steady, plodding boot steps make their way towards them, still out of sight but dangerously close to coming around the corner and spoiling the daring rescue.  Jack started to rise.  It wasn't so easy getting up one handed, more over wrong handed, and his head still swam from its collision with the floor.  

He couldn't blame Anamaria for being a might bit impatient with him, what with looming discovery and all.  He really, really, tried to keep it in perspective, even as he tried really, really, hard to keep from yelping when she grabbed his hand.  The cursed injured hand.  In the spirit of being helpful, his ladylove encased that hand in a steely grip, and used it to yank the rest of him to his feet and into the closet.

She meant no ill intent.  That was what Jack focused on as fire raced up his arm.  He could feel each beat of his heart in the palm of his hand, each beat pounding at the broken skin and the torn threads of stitching.  A thousand needles bore deep into his flesh and reminded him just how in fashion hooks seemed to be becoming, and how pleasant it would be to simply not have a hand there to drive him mad like this.

The boot steps passed without stopping.  

"You commin?"  Outside of the closet again, and never having been all that comfortable with the role of damsel in distress, Anamaria stood with her hands on her hips and toe tapping impatiently for the whole escaping thing to continue.

Through a haze of pain, Jack could only stare up at her in wonder and awe.  This was his woman, his first mate, his… the toe tapped the floor a bit harder with every passing moment… he nodded and carefully pushed himself up.  Yes, enough with concentrating on how bloody much his hand ached, and on with the escaping.  Back in the light, he saw the faint colour of blood through his glove, and made a mental note not to touch anything he didn't want to leave a big red smear on.  

"Jack?" 

He grinned, not very convincingly, and he could see right away that it made her suspicious.  Her eyes travelled the length of his body, examining and considering, and came to rest on his right arm.  He took a step back, but not quick enough to escape as she grabbed hold of his right wrist and pull him closer.  

"What's with your hand, Jack?"

Blood not only discoloured the leather, but also seemed to be seeping through it.  

"Just a scratch is all."  Telling lies and half-truths seemed to be the sport of the day.  If she could keep from him the pregnancy thing, he could keep from her the wounded hand thing.  He pulled free and looked back down the hall.  "We were on our way out, remember?  I'm guessing there's got to be a back door out of here somewhere."  

They continued down the hall.  Jack hadn't noticed before, but the halls in this area of the house didn't follow much logic.  After turning one corner, then turning right, then down a small staircase, they seemed to be walking through more of a wall then a hall.  Light came from cracks and holes in the boards lining either side, and the holes were at exactly the comfortable height to sand and peek through.  

"We're on our way out?"  Anamaria asked.

"Of coarse."  Jack answered and peeked through yet another hole.  Whatever room this space led to was empty and dark.  Moreover, it smelled strange.  Bad strange.  

Anamaria didn't seem to catch the bad strange part of the whole atmosphere thing, and she managed to find cracks in the wall forming a door, one little push and she was inside.  

He couldn't very well let her go alone.  In for a penny in for a pound, he found her so he might as well keep her.  The room felt large, and a draft tickled the back of Jack's neck.  With the draft came a scent, and now Jack could identify it as a tangy unpleasantly dead scent.

"D'ya have a flint?"  Anamaria whispered.

Ignorance is bliss.  The death scent all around them really didn't need further investigating, or so Jack believed.  He fumbled with his coat and pulled the small flint box out of his pocket.  If Anamaria wanted light, she could do the making of it herself.  It took her a moment to get it lit, and once it was lit, they saw exactly what crowded around them.

Multiple tables lined the walls.  Soiled sheets over top of them covering lumpy shapes, and from under one of these shapes Jack caught sight of exactly what he did not want to be seeing.

A human hand, pale and swollen with long thick-yellowed fingernails, hung off the table with a gnarled finger pointed towards the floor.  


	7. Remembrance

**This chapter is thanks to my dear friend jackfan2, she helped a lot in the forming of this little chapter, and in the writing of it, as a certain part is commandeered (with permission) from her own fabulous fic.  Oh, and she beta'd it too.  So actually, I think she's more to thank for this chapter than Moo is!!!  **

**Chapter Seven**

_A human hand, pale and swollen with long thick-yellowed fingernails, hung off the table with a gnarled finger pointed towards the floor. ___

"What the hell is this place?"  

"A school, actually."  Jack stepped forward and ran a finger along the edge of one of the canvas sheets covering a table.  Slowly, he pulled a corner back until he saw fine wisps of grey hair, then stopped.  He could go no further than that.   

Dead people were no mystery to either pirate.  They both saw all kinds of death, death by sword, death by drowning, death by falling, and death by illness.  Death held no fascination.  This was entirely different though.  This was no natural sight.  

Anamaria stepped up, took the cover, and pulled it back the rest of the way.  Beneath lay the upper half of a woman's torso.  

The chest area looked cut away, as were the ribs, to reveal the intricacies of anatomy that lie underneath.  They stared at the grisly sight until the full force of the smell hit them.  

Anamaria stepped back towards the safety of the doorway.  Jack did not move.  His eyes locked on the woman's face, the skin seemed thick and darkened, shrivelled and dried up.  But that wasn't all he saw.  

He knew it wasn't real, but that didn't make it any less visible.  The woman, the same woman who lay dead and dissected on the table, stood to the side staring at him with vibrant eyes.  She was not beautiful, her hair hung shoulder length and greyed with age, her shoulders stooped forwards slightly, but her eyes were a deep and rich colour of brown.  She didn't have to be beautiful; she was once a woman with hopes and dreams, a woman with a family.  

She stepped around the table, closer to him.  Her lips didn't move, but he heard the words in his head nonetheless.  "_They killed me for this_."  She swept a hand down and through the dead form on the table.  "_They'd have killed her too_."  Now she looked over to Anamaria, and Jack followed the gaze.  

"This is what they would have done to me."  Anamaria's very real voice sliced through the eerie silence, echoing what Jack already heard.  

"Which is exactly why we should not be here."  

The woman who was not there came even closer, and Jack had to take a hasty step back.  The air felt cold and heavy where she stood, making it hard to breathe.  Before he could move any further away, the world tilted.  

The cold he felt in the room magnified tenfold.  There were five tables in the room, but there were more than just that.  There were people, twenty at least, and they all stood and looked to him for answers.  

Morris Ettie stood among them, and his eyes held only accusation.  "_You were too late._"  He walked forwards, through the table in his way, and through the woman Jack first saw.  He walked right up to Jack, and then right into him.

"Jack!"

Anamaria's face appeared above him.  Above?  

"Am I not standing?"

"No Jack, yer not."  She placed a hand on his forehead, and her hand felt hot enough to burn as she touched him.  "You fainted."

"Pirates don't faint."

"Then y' swooned, y' bloody daft fool.  Whatever y' call it, y'  went down like a load o' bricks.  If I hadn'ta caught ya, you're head would be smacked open like a pumpkin right now."  

"Pirates don't swoon."  He concentrated on Anamaria, using her as an anchor to focus on.  Everything felt off centre.  The room at least no longer held as many bodies as it did before.  Correction: it held just as many bodies as it ever did, but no longer seemed occupied by those that weren't there.  

There was a memory of the woman standing there, and of his old acquaintance Morris Ettie rushing at him, but nothing after.  

That must be where the sudden lack of consciousness took place.

Anamaria helped him sit up, and then stared at the floor.  Strange behaviour, even for Anamaria.  She brought the lantern closer, and stared at the floor even harder.  

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Are y' bleeding?"

He finally looked where she was looking, and indeed there was a nice little patch of something on the floor just under where his hand lay.  The injured hand.  

"Looks like it."  The hand no longer hurt at least, it felt numb.  He stood up, or would have if she didn't stop him.  

"Let me see it Jack."  She didn't wait for an answer.  She took his hand, examined the palm of the glove and the blood soaked leather.  Then she started taking off the glove.  

Any feeling of numb Jack previously had scampered off to some far away place.  She got only a small glimpsed of the mess underneath before he pulled his arm away and pushed her off him.  "It's just a cut.  You can see to it later."  It was just a damned cut on the palm, nothing to get worked up about, wasn't like he never cut his palm before.  

Not cut right to the bone at least.  

"_Y'll be no good t' us if yer dead_."  

"What?"

Ana stared at him and raised an eyebrow.  "What?"

It sounded like a man's voice.  Not Anamaria.  The room obviously wasn't doing any favours for his sanity.  "We're leaving."  The off balance feeling remained as he stood up.

"We've got to do something about what's going on here, Jack."  

"That's Norrington's business.  Not ours."  

Anamaria looked back to the tables, and Jack wondered if he might not be as alone as he thought in what he saw.  "We can't leave 'em like this.  It ain't right."

"They're dead, we're not."  He stepped back out into the concealed hallway leading out.

"They might be dead, but that don't mean we can't do nothing about it." 

Jack stopped.  "Wrong.  Firstly, it was I who said that to you.  Secondly, don't twist what I say.  Thirdly, I have done something.  The Commodore is takin' care of t' matter, and it would go much better for us if we get out b'fore he comes in."

"What'll us being here matter for anything?"

"Pirates, Anamaria.  That's what we are, and that's what these devils ain't.  These're respected folk in Port Royal.  Who do y' think there goin'a blame when it comes out where these bodies came from?  Pirates, that's who.  They're goin'a say they's had no idea of the whole thing and the mean pirates tricked them inna'it.  An whadayathink that'll make us if we're here?"

"We'll be the pirates."

"Exactly."  As he walked, the smell of the room lingered.  He could smell it everywhere now, and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the damn house and breathe some fresh air.  

"_If you don't stop what's happening here, it will continue." _

Again.  That was not Anamaria.  Jack spun around; the voice was so close to his ear it might as well have been inside of it.  "It's not my problem."  Jack muttered.  

"_It's yer people getting snatched, Sparrow.  Pirates, dregs of society just like yer self and yer crew.  Like your woman."  _

Jack raised a hand and warily touched his temple.  Ignore it, he told himself and continued walking.  Morris Ettie was dead, dead as in gone, and certainly not currently residing in Jack's head.

"_Sloan will hang, but he'll be the only one.  They may shut down the school, but that won't stop it from reopening someplace else.  The man behind this will go free, and it will continue."  _The voice of Morris Ettie didn't grasp the whole death concept as well as it should have, apparently.

"I can't let the bastards get away with doing what they almost did to me."  This time it was Anamaria.  

Great, so the entire bloody universe was ganging up against him.  "We're going back to the Pearl.  Now."  

"No."  Anamaria said.

_"No."  _Morris Ettie echoed.

"Yes."  Jack took another step.  A ringing started in his ear, a sound that went from barely there to all encompassing in a matter of a heart beat.  

_"No."  _

This wasn't fair.  Not fair at all.  


	8. Surrender

**Chapter Eight, Surrender**

"Will you just SHUT-UP?" 

Anamaria looked at her Captain.  "What?"  

"Not you."  He could barely think with the damned ringing noise increasing in his ear.  

Jack saw Anamaria's look even through the relative darkness of the wall-way/secret passage, and he recognised that look.  He carried the reputation of being somewhat inventive in his approach to pirating.  Some called it a lack of sense, others called it brilliance.  

In truth, most of the time he couldn't care less what anyone thought of him; it was that they did think of him that mattered.  So, when people looked at him with the don't-disturb-the-lunatic look, usually it didn't carry any weight.  When Anamaria gave him that look, it was altogether a different matter.

Hearing voices was not a new thing; actually, it was an old thing.  Not that he heard voices, no.  They weren't other people's voices, but rather more like his voice, and definitely never someone else, well not someone else entirely.  Not like this, and never a damn ghost.

Moreover, he didn't want Anamaria thinking he'd gone completely mad due to this new development.  However, it did worry him that having gone completely mad might not be so far from the truth.  

"If not me, then who're y' tellin' ta shut up, Captain?"  How was it that whenever she added Captain to a sentence it sounded like an insult?

"No one."  Jack cleared his throat.  She didn't believe him, and this time she tilted her head to the side.  That was the first sign of trouble with Anamaria.  When she tilted her head just slightly, it meant she already decided something, and only needed to think up a way of expressing that decision out loud.  

"I'll do it on my own if I must."

"Fine."  Jack huffed.  Then he blinked.  Did he really just say fine to leaving Anamaria alone with a bunch of demented corpse greedy doctors?  "No.  Not fine."  He grabbed her arm to keep her from stomping off.  "What say you, y' come back t' the Pearl with me, an' we discuss the matter there?"

"With, or without you, Jack."  Anamaria shrugged him off as she said her final word.  And she left.  

Jack would have followed.  He intended to follow.  But the constant ringing suddenly increased until the pirate saw stars exploding behind his eyes.  

 _"You owe me, Sparrow."_  Bloody hell, not again.  _"You owe me a life."_  How he was able to hear the voice over and above the awful ringing, Jack couldn't fathom.   A sharp stabbing pain started to grow behind his eyes, and it grew large enough that it brought the pirate to his knees.  

"Better back off, mate; unless it'd be my life yer wantin' in exchange, rather than the life of the one who took yours."  Jack said the words out loud, unsure how to otherwise communicate with what was not there.  

_"Kill him, or I kill you.  The choice is yours."   _

Through the commotion in his head, Jack didn't hear the boot steps returning down the passage way.  "God's teeth, Jack, ye were supposed t' follow me."  He could only barely make out the words, but he did feel the warmth of her hand on his shoulder moments later.  

"Jack, what happened?"  Strong arms encircled him, and helped him back up onto his feet.  "If yer fakin' this t' get your way, I swear I'll gut ye."  

The pressure in his skull intensified even more with the first step, and became unbearable with the second.  "Wait… stop."  Jack stumbled and nearly brought Anamaria to the floor with him.  

_"KILL.  HIM."_  The voice of Morris Ettie persisted, and then things went dark again.

~

"He might 'av, but I didn' see it happen."  Anamaria tried not to sound defensive, but with Will asking questions like these, how else could she respond?  How dare the boy accuse her of not looking after her Captain properly!

"But you said he fainted."  

"He did, and I caught him." 

"What'd he faint from?"  Will again.  

"I don't know.  He didn't say."  As much as she tried to be patient, she couldn't just sit around chatting when her Captain lay unconscious on the floor in front of her.  

"Did you ask?  Does he faint often?"  Will didn't sound so calm either.

"No.  I've never seen Jack faint before." 

"So you never thought it strange that he'd start now?"

Ana was about to answer that when the object of their concern opened his eyes and glared up at them.  "I didn't bloody faint.  An' what're y' doing here?"  The last bit he directed to Will.  

"I've been looking for you.  But I never thought to look in the walls till I heard the two of you arguing."  Will explained.  

"We're getting' ye out o' here, Jack."  In a moment of uncharacteristic tenderness, Anamaria brushed a stray lock of hair from Jack's forehead.  "Will told me what happened."

"What?  'Ow long 'av I been out?" 

"It's the blood loss, Jack; that's why yer faintin'.  You'll feel better once we're back on the Pearl."

"S' not blood loss."  They helped him sit up and then sat staring at him intently, waiting for him to continue.  "An' I can't go back t' the Pearl.  Not yet."  

"Why not?  Isn't that what you're wantin'?"  Anamaria narrowed her eyes, just minutes ago Jack was using every argument he could think of to get her out of the school, and now he wanted to stay?  

"Still is."  Jack agreed, and before continuing paused to cast a searching look at them both.  Anamaria felt immediately uneasy about whatever he was about to say next.  "I. . .  found Morris Ettie."  He started slowly.  "Or rather, he found me."  

"He's alive?"  Anamaria asked.

Jack continued.  "Not so much.  He's a ghost, he's in my head, and he won't get out of it until I do as he asks."

Will and Anamaria gave each other a bewildered look.  "What is he asking exactly?"  Anamaria asked warily.

"T' take the life of the man who killed 'im."  

Will looked away, and Anamaria tried not to do the same.  Jack liked to tell stories, she knew he embellished and added to tales liberally whenever he told one, especially when it involved a story about him self.  Her first instinct was to think that now, he must be making it up cause what he explained to them was insane.  People who heard voices telling them to do things are locked up with other crazy people who hear voices telling them to do things.   

"Are you sure?"  Will asked.  

Jack laughed.  "Am I sure?"  He asked.  "Well, Will Turner, next time let's have you be the one with a vengeful demon nesting in yer brain and I'll ask ye if y' be sure it's there."  

"That's not what I meant."  Will could not look directly at Jack, but Anamaria deliberately kept her eyes locked on him.  

"I know exactly what y' meant, lad.  It feels real, that's all I can say."

The one thing Anamaria knew was that Jack was hurt, his hand was bleeding again, and he could barely stand.  Whether Jack's story was true or not, this was no time to go traipsing off on a mad errand to avenge a dead friend.  "You can fight this Jack, whatever it is, don't let it get the best of you.  Just remember, ghost or no ghost, I'm the only one t' be givin' ye ultimatums."  Anamaria pulled his arm over her shoulder and hoisted him to his feet.  One step was all she took.  Just one step.  

Instinct makes a person back away from what hurts them.  Jack broke away from Anamaria and backed into Will, sending them both off balance.  Anamaria wanted to help, but she couldn't.  Stunned, she stood frozen in place, unable to act, and unable to do anything but watch.  

But Bootstrap's boy did help.  Will caught Jack before they hit the ground, and firmly lowered the pirate captain to the wood floor.  In that moment, she finally began to understand the faith Jack held in the boy.  She was too used to dealing with rogues to see it before.  What she assumed to be weakness was actually something else all together, and something that Anamaria her self lost long ago.  Will Turner cared, and he wasn't afraid to show it.  The boy… no… the man, held onto his friend in a secure embrace, while Jack's body writhed in pain.  

Finally, Anamaria regained the ability to move.  She knelt down.  Whatever stories Jack may have told in the past, this was not one of them.  This was real, and she cursed her self for not believing him sooner.  If she'd listened to him to begin with, this wouldn't have happened.  

"Fight it."  Anamaria reached out and took Jack's left hand to hold it tightly in her own.  "You can do this; you're stronger than it is."  

And fight it he did.  Jack's breathing became more laboured the more he fought, and Anamaria tensed in sympathy with each agonized lungful of air.  Will kept his hold, and placed a hand on Jack's forehead to keep him steady through another convulsion.  "Let it go Jack, let it win."  

If Anamaria had a gun, she might have used it.  "You're telling him to give up?"

The look in Will's eyes was not what she expected.  "He's losing this battle.  Tell him Ana, tell him to let it win.  He's listening to you, not me."  

With all her soul, she didn't want to do it.  It wasn't in her nature to give up or give in, and it wasn't in Jack's nature either.  Nevertheless, Will was correct, Jack would lose this fight.  His grip on her hand grew steadily weaker, and she feared what might happen if he continued fighting.  "It's okay, Jack.  Just try to breathe, let it win."  

The grip on her hand tightened once more, and then relaxed.  After a minute his breathing became more even, and Jack's body relaxed as the pain started to ease.  He looked raw, and his voice, came out as little more than a hoarse whisper.  "Let's not try that again."  

"Can you move Jack?"  Will asked, and the look that came over Jack's face when he became aware of his position against the young blacksmith was priceless.

"As I live and breathe, Will Turner, that had better be your sword sticking into my back."  

Anamaria snickered as Will shifted to give the pirate his space while at the same time remaining close enough to be available if necessary.  "Sorry, I wasn't aware my dagger was protruding."   

Jack looked at Anamaria and rolled his eyes in humorous exasperation.  But Will had an expression of his own she couldn't overlook, the boy was desperately attempting to keep a straight face.  Was it possible the blacksmith might be playing along with the jibe?  If that was the case, then she owed him thanks for bringing some much needed levity to the aftermath of whatever just happened.

The moment didn't last.  Jack looked up at the two of them, his eyes bloodshot and darkly circled with exhaustion, but deadly earnest determination hardened his features.  "Seems we've got a man t' kill."  

"How are you to do that when you can't hold a sword?  Can you even stand?"  

"There's more n' one way t' skin a cat, Turner."  Jack grinned.  "Don't count me out yet."

**Thanks to Julie, as usual, for moral support and some much needed whip cracking.  And to anyone who considered this Fic abandoned, it was simply misplaced.    Thanks to everyone reviewing!!!!  And to the gremlins, come stop by for a coffee or two, I promise all the mouse traps have been removed.  ;)**


	9. Skinning the Cat metaphorically speaking

**Chapter 9 **

**Skinning the Cat **

Bad things happen. Usually they happen to good people, people who don't deserve to be hurt. Then again, sometimes fate steps in, or rather on, those who deserve it the most. 

In this instance, a certain ghost seemed intent on aiming fate's step, and seemed even more intent on using Jack Sparrow as the boot.      

The trio of friends sat for a minute, contemplating the strangeness of the situation placed before them (though admittedly it wasn't _as strange_ _as_ battling indestructible skeletal pirates).  When it had been a choice, Anamaria felt compelled to set out into the school and bring to task the man who intended to end her life for the sake of a teaching tool.  Now with the choice taken away and turned into a threat, Anamaria felt distinctly different about the situation.  

Honestly, she wanted to be outwardly sympathetic and girly and show concern for Jack's welfare, but Anamaria simply had to admit to herself that she wasn't built that way.  She did feel concern, she felt like a big knotted cord of rigging was lodged in her belly at the thought of her Captain being coerced in such a way; but the action this bred within her ran more towards bloodletting than nursing.  

"This Morris Ettie ye've been looking f'r, he was a friend o' yers?"  With no corporeal enemy to tackle, Anamaria felt at a loss as to what to do, and so she made do by attacking with words.

Jack glared at her in response.  

But that glare held a hint of the fire she loved seeing in his eyes.  Leave the coddling to the likes of blacksmith whelps; Anamaria knew that when the sea stirred with storm, it wasn't a soft hand that held the ship steady.  Jack stood up, he moved slowly and Anamaria understood he probably still felt somewhat off balance by the whole possession thing.  

"Ask yer ghost if you've gotta be the one t' do the killing."  Anamaria demanded.  

She waited an entire count to three for an answer and then continued.  "Ask 'im if 'e even knows 'o it is 'e wants murdered."  

Another count to three.  "Ask 'im if 'e 'as a preference as t' how 'e wants the bastard killed."  

Overall, this now equalled a count of nine, and her tolerance was wearing thin.    

"Enough already."  Jack rolled his eyes and pointed a finger at her in a show of exasperation.  "If yer thinking I'm about to have a bloody conversation with- uh, just a moment."  He stopped and stared up at the ceiling.  "Fine."  He looked to Anamaria, and to Will, then back to Anamaria again.  "If ye must know, 'e don't care how or by who it gets done, so long as it does get done."  

Anamaria watched closely as Jack yet again looked up at the ceiling, and she found herself cautiously following his gaze up towards whatever he was staring at.  Nothing was there of course, but a quick glance to the side revealed Will staring in the same direction, so at least she didn't feel stupid alone.  

"Actually."  

Anamaria jumped a bit as Jack once again spoke to her and Will.  

The pirate scratched a bit at the uncomfortable fit of his borrowed clothing, and then continued.  "Actually, 'e prefers gutting with a bit of disembowelment for good measure.  However, any kind of death'll do just fine.  Thanks for asking."  

Will continued staring up at the ceiling where Jack had been staring only moments before, and now Jack followed Will's gaze up in that direction while frowning slightly, trying to see what Will was so intent on looking at.  

"You can hear him?"  Will asked.

"Can you?"  Jack answered.  "What're ye lookin' at?"

Jack didn't wait for Will to respond; instead, he swept past to the not-so-hidden door in the wall leading out into the room beyond.  

"D' ye know where yer goin', Jack?"  Anamaria called after.  He appeared to know where he was going, but then again that could be the look indicating the exact opposite, seeing as whenever he wore that look, it was directly preceding getting well and truly lost.  

With one foot out the door, Jack stopped and turned back.  "Aye.  Sure, I got a map and a sketch of exactly where and who, and a set of plans leading us through this bloody maze of a house."

"You do?"  Anamaria smirked at the long-suffering sigh Jack released in response to that question before disappearing the rest of the way through the door.  She walked out after him and nearly walked right into his back.  

"Seems we won't be needing a map afterall, eh?"  Jack stood looking at a balding, fat little man with spectacles perched on the end of his nose.  "And so this would be the man in charge of it all, eh?"

'Eh?  Who are you?"  With a voice soaked in cultured British accent, the fat little man looked ready to faint or run.  Anamaria wasn't sure which.  "You don't work here!"  Somehow aristocratic British accents didn't sound nearly so impressive once they were reduced to little more than a squeak.  

"You are sure this is him?"  Will's hand hovered just over his sword hilt.  "Found him kind of easily, didn't we?"

"Seeing as our esteemed demon is currently screeching '_kill him, kill him'_ loud enough that I can scarcely hear o'er it, I've got a hunch this would be our man."  Jack squinted a bit as he walked around to block the only other door out of the room.  "And it would be really nice if said demon could STOP SCREAMING FOR JUST A MINUTE so that I can go about doing said killing!" 

A minute of shocked silence passed following Jack's outburst.  

"Kill who?  Kill me?"  The fat little brit, Anamaria could barely think of him as anything more threatening than that, seemed to dance between one foot and another.  Oddly enough, Jack's talk about demons didn't worry their quarry one bit.  

Recovering from the tantrum, Jack's voice returned to its normal mocking tone.  "How do you feel 'bout going up against live pirates for a change, mate?"  

"I- I- what do you mean pirates?  I don't know any pirates!  I swear, I've never even seen a pirate before."

"Not any live ones, at least."  Jack muttered.  

The strange little dance continued, and everyone involved seemed to be in a bit of a shock at the lack of sense in the scene around them.  If no one else was going to come out and explain the situation to the Doctor, she might as well do so.  "We're here cause of the people ye've been buying off the street for yer school.  People ye've been killin' in order t' cut 'em up and stare at their insides."  

 "I don't know any pirates!"  The little man cried again.  "I don't know any dead pirates or formerly alive ones either."  

How could this be the diabolical mastermind in charge of killing so many innocent people?      

"You do run this school, don't you?"  Jack asked.  

"Yes, yes, this is my school, yes; the only one like it in the Caribbean.  But I don't have any pirates, I swear."

"Hmm.  So where do the bodies come from I wonder?"  

The little man stopped dancing for a moment.  "You mean the teaching cadavers?  But they're all dead.  They weren't pirates!  They were just… oh."  Realisation must have finally dawned.  "But they were destitute and living on the street.  I brought a purpose to their lives by offering them a death with meaning, a death by which they are helping others more privileged than them selves!"

Anamaria, Jack, and Will, all looked at each other for a moment with utter bewilderment, and Anamaria wondered what to do from here.  Ending a man's life in self-defence was one thing; however this pathetic example standing in front of them offered no immediate threat.  Undoubtedly he was the one doing the killings, and for that he deserved to die.  But, to kill this man here and now would be no more than an execution.  

"Do I recognise you?"  The Doctor stared at Anamaria and scrunched up his eyebrows.  "Are you the pregnant girl I bought this morning?"

"Pregnant?"  Anamaria asked.  She noticed then that Jack and Will were staring at her with the same kind of expectant look.  "You were gonna kill me, thinking I'm with child?"  To hell with the execution, maybe she'd take Morris Ettie's suggestion to gut and disembowel the bastard right here and now.  

"Are ye?"  Jack asked.  

"Am I what?"  She advanced on the doctor, going through a mental checklist of suitable deaths.  Execution be damned, this was no worse than extermination.

"Are ye pregnant?"  Jack asked.  

"WHAT?"  That diverted her attention, and in that distraction, the doctor dived behind his desk.  He popped up seconds later with a pistol perilously gripped with trembling hands.

Just as Anamaria wondered if things could get any worse, there came a forceful knock at the door.  Before Jack could stop it from opening, the door swung inwards and Commodore Norrington strode inside.  

In addition, the doctor, already in the midst of a nervous breakdown, started to hyperventilate, and his fingers tightened just a little more over the trigger.

**Author Note:  **Another chapter, funny that it takes me weeks to update and this chapter was written in a day, revised with amazing Julie's help the next day (the good parts are hers the mistakes are my own).  Thanks to trappedandannoyed for the shove to get me going.  Hate to lose a loyal reviewer, haha.  

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far!!!!!!!  The story is still standing, though there are times I am not.  The world is shifting over here in Rat-land and I'm doing my best to avoid falling through one of the crevices.  Though jumping in may be a good idea, you never know where it could lead…  might be fun!  hmm.  TTFN!


	10. Out of the frying pan

Thanks to Julie for beta reading!!!

**Chapter 10.  Out of the frying pan******

"What is going on here?"  The forceful yet elegant tones of the dashing Commodore Norrington filled the room.  Did the man even have a tone other than the, bored-done-it-all-seen-it-all-I-am-in-control-here-and-everything-is-as-it-should-be, voice he used so often?  Or, did that tone of voice only emerge when dealing with a certain pirate captain?  

Jack wondered if he should be flattered or insulted.  

But only briefly.  

Time to focus, there was a slightly more pressing concern, and it centred on a stuffy British doctor nervously waiving a gun around at everyone.  What worried Jack the most was that it was no longer a matter of _if_ the Doctor would fire the weapon; it was a matter of when.  If everyone was lucky, the bullet would crash into a wall or something equally as lifeless as Norrington's wig, but since when did luck ever run on Jack's side?  

Where was luck when the demon took residence in his head?

_I am not a demon._

"I don't give a damn what the bloody hell you are, just shut up."

"Excuse me?"  Apparently, the threat of nervous and hyperventilating Doctors waiving guns around weighed less than an implied insult where the Royal Navy was concerned.

"Not you."  Jack replied.  Norrington looked towards the pirate captain with unconcealed contempt, which was, Jack realized, the only look the Commodore ever afforded him.  In light of that fact, he decided not to take it personally.  

Another concern rested towards Anamaria, and the mystery of the unanswered pregnancy question.  If she were pregnant, that would mean a lot of things.  It would mean either losing her as a first mate, or taking an infant aboard a pirate ship, which didn't seem like all that wise a choice to be choosing.  If he kept Anamaria and the child, then shouldn't all his men also be allowed to bring screaming, puking, pooing, smelly babies, and screaming wives with them? And what kind of pirate ship would that be? 

Not much of one.  

On the other hand, he'd gotten somewhat used to having Anamaria around to fight with, and fighting without her didn't sound like as much fun at all.  

Jack took a step towards the crazy Doctor.  Having any of the people now in the room shot was out of the question.  If Norrington were shot, the rest of his marines would run in and predictably arrest the pirates for the murder, and result in a couple hangings.  Not good.  If Will Turner were shot, that would result in a shrieking death at the hands of Elizabeth Turner.  Again, not good.  If Jack were shot, obviously that would put an end to his pirate captaining, what with probably being dead afterwards and all, and Jack certainly didn't want that to happen.  Last, but not least, if Anamaria were shot that would mean having to find another first mate.  Bloody inconvenience.  

Not that Jack thought he'd have trouble finding a replacement first mate, Gibbs would do just fine if it came to that, but he'd really rather just keep Anamaria alive and breeding… no er um... breathing… for as long as possible.  

Speaking of which the pistol now aimed her way yet again.  

"Ah mate, you really don't want to waste yer shot do ye?  That's the problem with threatening someone with just a pistol.  They only carry one lead, once that is spent, it leaves you with no defence."  

In answer, the pistol shifted his way.  

_Brilliant plan, Jack, let's be the hero and get shot for fun.  _

Jack grinned in response to the outraged words in his head, and the doctor looked even more nervous than he had before.   

"And why not, eh?"  Jack was getting used to hearing the extra voice in his head, and he understood that he didn't have to say the words out loud to have them understood.  By saying the words out loud, however, Jack knew the demon would hear him.  "Seems as good a plan as any."  

The gun wavered once more as the Doctor frowned.  "You want to be shot?"  

"Nothin' else to do today."  Three steps backwards and Jack pressed his back against the door for support.  Being shot would certainly be the epiphany of an already terrible day, but there were worse things.  "No one would blame y' if ye did, mate.  Bein' a pirate an all- who knows what weapons 'r tricks I could be hidin' up my sleeves.  An' ye said it yer self earlier; at least it'd be a death with meaning, aye?  It's bound t' end either like this, or a short drop in the gallows, an' I've no wish 't do that again.

"They'll give you a medal, most likely."  With his voiced hushed down to a whisper, Jack spoke directly to the Doctor as though they were the only ones left in the room.  "Think about it- here you are, up against a pirate, and naught but one shot t' take 'im down with.  Ye'll be a hero, mate."  

Whether or not any answer was given in return was lost in an outraged howl coming from Morris Ettie, and Jack could only hope the battle going on in his head couldn't be seen on the outside.  He kept his back pressed firmly against the door, and closed his eyes while nausea and vertigo threatened to send him falling over.  Who was to say that even if he did kill the Doctor, Morris would leave him alone?  Who could promise him that if the demon got his way this time, he'd not try it again sometime later?  Not that Jack intended to let the Doctor get away with what he'd been doing, but his old friend deserved a good kick in the arse as well.

He wondered what would happen to Morris Ettie if his current nest were to be taken away form him.

"I bet they'll even give ye the body t' play with afterwards.  Can't be any worse n' the others ye took without permission, can it?  At least this one'll have an interesting bullet in it for yer students to look at."

"I purchased those bodies!  They're mine."  

"Just one question though, mate, did they know they were going t' die t' serve a higher educational purpose?"  

"Does a scientist need to tell the rat what experiment they'll be using it for?"  

Jack opened his eyes.  That was it.  The man confessed to the killings, did he not?  Norrington had to have heard it; everyone heard it.  

_Kill him now!_  Morris Ettie screamed yet again.  _There must be justice._

Pirates do not mete out Justice, if Jack were to kill the man; it would be nothing grander than murder.  This pirate would rather see Morris Ettie in hell than be used as a puppet, no matter how deserving the Doctor may be.  

Sound filled the room, deafening in the confined quarters.  At the same moment what felt like a fist hit Jack in the ribs, but rather than being pushed backwards, he fell sideways.  The pressure came down yet again on his chest when he hit the ground, crushing from both directions.  The force of the blow knocked out his breath, and in the aftermath, his ribs refused to expand to allow fresh air in.  

In dazed confusion, his mind swam against the sea of pain and lack of air as he struggled to comprehend what just happened.  The stuffy brit Doctor had been wielding a gun, threatening everyone in the room.  Everyone?  Anamaria, Norrington, Will… and Jack.

_Don' forget me, ya bloody idiot!_

Not likely would Jack forget Morris.  The demon's rantings filled his head, dominating all other sounds.  Not even the gun shot could penetrate it much…Gun shot?! The shattering sound had filled the air and… a rush of heat followed, encompassing every inch of skin, turning to ice moments later.  The chill reached deep, but there was no pain, nothing more than the crushing pressure weighting down on his chest.  

There was a timeless moment of no sound, no movement, and no sight.  That was when the panic began to set in.  On one level he understood that he was not alone, he knew Anamaria and Will were in the same room as him, but as a fire began to build in his lungs from lack of air, he'd never felt so alone in his life.  

He couldn't even understand what had happened to him.  It stood to reason that he'd been shot, but this didn't feel like being shot.  This felt like being punched in the gut and stepped on by an elephant all at once.  

_Well, Jack, ye bloody fool. Ye gone an' got yer self killed. Now you'll know how I feel._

There were any number of witty comebacks Jack was just dying… or um… wanting… to say, but he couldn't find the breath to say them.  And it finally occurred to him that Morris might be right.  

Nevertheless, Jack felt one other thing while gasping for breath.  He felt free.  Apparently, Morris Ettie didn't like the idea of getting caught in another dead body.  The demon was gone.  Of all the things Jack regretted at the thought that this might be his end, being rid of Morris Ettie gave him a measure of peace.

Authors note:  TBC.  

And it is amazing sometimes how feeling like you're about to fall into a crevice, if you simply jump in you find you were already at the bottom anyhow.  You weren't in risk of falling- but of being carried back up!  


	11. Into the fire

**_Chapter 11, Into the Fire_**

This couldn't be happening.  Will stood dumfounded as Jack practically begged the crazed Doctor to shoot him.  

"You want to be shot?"  The Doctor asked the pirate.

"Nothin' else to do today."  The pirate answered with a shrug.

Nothing else to do today?  Was the man completely insane?  Will wanted to scream at Jack and demand an explanation.  However, he did not move, and he did not say a word.  Neither did Anamaria.  Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw her wearing an expression he imagined to be much like his own.  

Up until that point, he might have been able to convince him self and say, 'Jack's got a plan, right?'  Jack always seemed to have a plan, even when he didn't have a plan. Will always just assumed there had to be a deeper motive to the pirates' actions.  Usually he was right in that, deeper motives ran natural to a man like Jack, but this time Will couldn't see what that motive could be.  And apparently Anamaria didn't know what he was planning either.

"Think about it- here ya are, up against a pirate, and naught but one shot t' take 'im down with.  Ye'll be a hero, mate."  Jack leaned back against the door and seemed to be waiting for the Doctor to shoot him.  

What kind of ludicrous plan was that?  

Even the Commodore looked perplexed by the turn of events.  

"Just one question though, mate, did yer other victims know they were going t' die t' serve a higher educational purpose?"  Was it Will's imagination or did Jack look ill?  The words were delivered in the same cocky style the pirate always spoke in, but Will got the impression that somehow Jack wasn't all that sure of what was going on around him anymore.  

"Does a scientist need to tell the rat what experiment they'll be using it for?"  

In hindsight, Will cursed himself a fool for not acting sooner; leaving him to watch in horror as the Doctor's hand steadied briefly as he aimed his pistol directly at Jack's chest.  The shot fired.  There wasn't enough time to act in his friends defence; not even Anamaria could make it to her Captain in time.  

Only the Commodore anticipated the Doctor's intentions, for as the Doctor's hand steadied, he jumped in to save the pirates life.  

Literally.  

In an act of selfless nobility, Commodore Norrington all but tackled the pirate.  And save him he did.  A sizable hole splintered the wood door barely a second after both men fell to the floor.  

The shot still echoed in the room as time persisted with shocking speed through the multitude of events.  Anamaria pounced on the Doctor.  She held a knife tightly clenched in her fist, and the blade pressed dangerously close to the man's throat while she leaned in close and murmured threats into the Doctor's ear.  Will could barely hear half of what she said, but his blood ran cold from the description of what did reach him.

Across the room, the Commodore struggled to disentangle him self from Jack.  

Unsure whether his intension was to help her carry out said threats on the Doctor, or ask her to stop, Will took a step towards Anamaria.

"Don't ye dare try t' stop me, Will Turner."  

"Withdraw from that man, now."  Finally on his feet, Norrington advanced on Anamaria with his sword held ready, and she in turn focused her attention on him.  

"Ye've no right to interfere in this.  Jack tol' ye what this man's been doing, an' you heard for yerself he don't deny it."

"It is not only my right, but it is my duty to interfere.  The law will deal with this man, and I give you my word that Justice will be served.  Murder in any form is a hanging offence, as is piracy."  

The Doctor looked ready to faint.  

That was when Will caught sight of Jack.  He lay where he fell, rolled slightly on his side away from the action taking place around him.  He knew his friend was not shot, he saw the bullet hit the door rather than a person with his own eyes, but something was obviously wrong.  

One thought did occur to him: why was it Jack always seemed to be the one injured?  Not that Will wanted to get injured instead, but the best outcome would be if no one got injured at all.  It just always seemed whenever trouble started, Jack managed stumble right into the center of it.  

The closer he got, the more Will worried that maybe he'd been wrong about the bullet.  Maybe the bullet did hit Jack after all; maybe the hole in the door was caused by something other than the lead shot.  

"Jack?"  Will knelt down, and placed a hand on Jack's shoulder.  He could see now that Jack lay with one arm protectively wrapped over his chest, with the other supporting his weight on the ground.  

Wary of the possibility of a gunshot wound, but unable to find the blood evidence of such an injury, Will carefully took hold of Jack's shoulder and lifted.  He felt the pirate's muscles tense under his hands at the movement, and stopped; worried he might be causing more harm than good.  And now too, Will became aware of the struggle Jack was going through to draw in breath.  

 "Is it Morris?  Are you fighting him?"  

The pirate shook his head no.

"Are you shot?"  Will asked, but before receiving an answer, the racket of the heated debate between Anamaria and the Commodore reached a crescendo.

"He deserves to die!"  Anamaria yelled at Norrington yet again.  

"He deserves what is entitled to any man, to face a jury of his peers and Just punishment."  

The response to that was a harsh laugh.  "Any man, eh?  Women too?  An' what about Pirates?  What about common folk?  I've yet to witness a trial set for someone not privileged."

"Then you will be pleased for the opportunity to attend your own trial once this is over."  

"It'd not be a trial, an ye know it.  I'd be facin' a court of one man already decided on my fate, without even allowing me an opportunity to speak in my own defense."

"Be that as it may, it is a trial none the less."

"If I leave 'im to yer justice, they'll send 'im back t' England with no more than a slap on the wrist.  I won't allow that."

"Anamaria."  Will shouted behind him.  The argument halted, for the moment, replaced with stunned silence.  As Anamaria's gaze leveled on Jack, the Doctor was all but forgotten, and she rushed to join Will at Jack's side.  

"What happened to 'im?"  She wasted no time.  She pushed Will aside, took over and propped Jack into a sitting position, despite the obvious discomfort it caused.  Finally, the pirate started to draw in deeper breaths.  She sat directly in front of him.  "Are ye shot?"  

Anamaria didn't wait for an answer.  She took hold of the arm Jack held protectively against his ribs and pried it away from his body.  "No blood."  She unbuttoned his shirt and looked closely at his chest.

Norrington joined the small huddle after securing the Doctor in irons.  

"Hold his arm for me."  Anamaria demanded.

Will took hold of Jack's wrist, trying to be as gentle as possible, and winced in sympathy as she placed her hand on Jack's chest, probing his ribs with her fingertips.  

"This it?"  She asked.  

Norrington now held Jack's other arm, giving Anamaria free access to Jack's chest in order to assess the injury.  When she pressed the spot again, Jack flinched and Will had to adjust his hold in order to keep Jack from pushing her away. 

By the look of things, the pirate suffered several broken ribs.  "That's the spot Ana, leave him be."

Anamaria adjusted her hand so that her fingers rested just gently over his ribs. "Take a deep breath, Jack.  The whelp can't do this for you."  

Jack's mouth opened, he looked about to say something.  

"That's the idea, Jack.  You can do it."  

Jack sucked in as deep a breath as he was able, which Will could see was not very deep at all, and finally found his voice back.  "Get t' hell off me."  

"Another deep breath."  

Having seen enough, Will released Jack's arm without bothering to wait for Anamaria's permission. In response, she glared at him, but said nothing.  Immediately, Jack brought his arm back to rest over the sensitive area of his ribs.  

Jack looked to be breathing a bit easier now, and Anamaria didn't look half as worried.  "Are you going to be okay?"  Will asked the pirate, hoping for some extra reassurance.

The voice carried barely more than a whisper.  "I thought… I was shot.  Wha' happened?"

"It's just a fracture, I think.  The lungs are still filling with air, so far as I could feel.  You just got the wind knocked out o' ye Jack, but by god you had me scared.  I need ye t' try an' cough now."

"Wait jus' a… minute."

"No.  Now Jack.  Cough.  I need to see that you can do it."  

He took another deep breath, braced his ribs, and preformed more of a throat clearing than a cough.  Nevertheless, Anamaria seemed satisfied, for the moment at least. 

"Ye' d be shot If the Commodore hadn't 'o pushed ye out of the way, ye daft fool.  What the hell were ye thinkin' Jack?"  

No answer, but that didn't stop Anamaria from continuing.  "Yer damn lucky yer not dead.  Luckier yet that the weight of the Commodore crushing down on yer stupid self broke bone and not else, but that's yet t' be seen, ain't it.  Damn it, Jack, if yer injured worse n' I think you are, I might just kill ye myself."

Shouts and booted steps could be heard down the hall, followed moments later by the door being swept open.  Murtogg and Mullroy rushed inside, ready for action.  "We heard the shot and came right away."  They stared at Norrington, then at the Doctor, and then down to Jack; and that was where their eyes stayed.  

"Sparrow?"

Jack looked up at hearing his name, recognized the men and tilted his head slightly to the side in greeting.

A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of Will's stomach as he watched Norrington clear his throat and get to his feet.  

"Arrest these men."  The Commodore commanded.  

"All of 'em?"  Murtogg asked.  

"No.  That one."  Norrington pointed at the Doctor seated across the room.  

"And Captain Sparrow?"

After a brief pause, so brief Will barely noticed, the Commodore answered.  "Yes.  Him too."  

**Author's note**:  Thanks to Jackfan2 who helped beta this the morning she rushed off to the beach!!!!!  And thanks to everyone who has reviewed!!!  


	12. Time and Measures

_Thanks to Jackfan2 for beta reading.   This wouldn't have gotten completed as quickly as it did without your lovely harassment.  _

_Sorry for taking so long on getting this chapter posted- life is distracting_.  _I hope that updates will continue more quickly after this!_  

**Chapter 12, Time and Measures**

Brief Recap….

_"Arrest these men." The Commodore commanded. _

_"All of 'em?" Murtogg asked. _

_"No. That one." Norrington pointed at the Doctor seated across the room. _

_"And Captain Sparrow?"_

_After a brief pause, so brief Will barely noticed, the Commodore answered. "Yes. Him too." _

............ 

Overall, prison wasn't so bad.  Not when considering the fact that prison turned out to the Commodore's office.  It was really quite funny, actually.  Anamaria fought like a shark to get Norrington to change his mind about the whole arresting thing, as did Will.  They even followed Murtogg and Mullroy all the way to the fort.  

Of course, at the time, Jack hadn't been so confident about his fate either.  Having already graced Port Royal's prison twice, and having been hung once, he didn't look forwards to experiencing it again.  

As it turned out, Norrington took him straight up to his office for interrogations. 

"Sit there and don't move."  Norrington gestured towards an old chair in the far corner of the room.

"How 'bout here?"  Jack asked, edging towards a nicer chair closer to a window.  A glare and a shrug was the response, and Jack ended up sitting in the corner after all.  

Norrington took a seat at his desk and started sifting through various papers and folders.  "I gave you orders to stay away from the school.  Did I not?"

Was answering necessary?  Jack didn't think so, and so he didn't.  This felt like the nun school his folks made him attend as a child.  Sit in the corner and be quiet.  Bloody nuns. 

"And what did I warn you would happen should I see you at the school?"

"Something concerning luck, or rather the lack thereof, so far as I recall."  As much as Jack appreciated not being in a cell, and not wearing the standard prison issue irons on his wrists, having broken ribs was still bloody uncomfortable.  He shifted again to try and find a better position. 

"You are fortunate the bullet missed you."  

Missed?  That was an interesting way to put it.  It would have been a perfect shot had the Commodore not tackled him.  A certain paper took Norrington's interest for a moment, and the man muttered slightly under his breath while scribbling some words on a new sheet before looking back up.  

"How is your hand faring Mr Sparrow?"

"I've not thought about it."  Jack lied.  So now what?  Was the Commodore's plan to simply talk him to death?  "Thanks for the concern, mate.  Now if that'll be all, I've got a ship to be going back to…"

"No Mr. Sparrow, this is most definitely not all."  Norrington seemed ready to say more, but was interrupted by a knock on his door.  "Enter."  

Murtogg entered, looking somewhat worried, and spoke briefly.  Jack didn't catch all of what was said, but he did distinctly hear the words Morris Ettie.  His sudden interest at hearing the familiar name did not go unnoticed.  

"If you've any pertinent information, it would be best to share it now."  The Commodore stared at Jack.  

"That all depends on what information it is you'd be needing."  Jack answered

"Apparently the esteemed Doctor's mental state has come under question.  The man appears to be in the throws of some kind of brain fever, continuously screaming a name."  

"And that name would be Morris Ettie?"

"Indeed it would.  What do you know of it?"

Jack shook his head no.  "Never heard 'o him."  He shifted a bit again and glanced across the room towards the window.  

"Indeed."  The Commodore turned back to Murtogg and handed him a paper.  "Take this to Governor Swann for his signature.  That is all."

Once they were alone once more, Norrington stood up and began to pace.  "I gave you a chance Mr. Sparrow, and yet you disregarded it.  I trust that you appreciate that I can not assist you a second time." 

And so ended Jack's hope of avoiding Port Royal's dungeon.    

"Your hand will need treatment."  James stopped in front of the pirate.  "There is little I can do to intercede on your behalf.  Sloan is claiming you acted with him as a business partner.  Due to your reputation as a pirate, it is an accusation nearly impossible to dispute.  The fact that you were there is enough to condemn you."  

"What about Anamaria and young Turner?"  

"Your capture is enough to take the spotlight off their involvement.  There will be no charges against them."

"Good.  That's good.  What's t' happen to me then?"  

"You will not be hanged in Port Royal.  Due to the notoriety of the crimes you have committed, I have ordered that you are to be taken to London for trial and execution."

Jack nodded.  "That allows for some time, eh?"  

"It does.  I trust your crew will use it wisely.  I will inform Elizabeth and Will of the arrangements I have made.  You will not be moved until I am satisfied the injuries you have sustained will not interfere with the likelihood of a fit arrival in London."  

That equalled even more time, and more time equalled more opportunity for escape.  

The rest of the day passed quickly after that, and for the moment, Jack was allowed to remain in the relative comfort of Norrington's office while the Commodore completed hours of paper work at his desk.  

Irons were clamped on his wrists, and a woman came to tend to the pirate's hand shortly after.  Jack barely acknowledged her.  As for the woman, she kept her eyes lowered, and her actions efficient.  Two Marines were posted at the door to ensure her safety during the ministrations, so there was little else she could do.  

There was so much he needed to tell Anamaria, and having her so close and not being able to say any of what was on his mind was almost more frustrating than not having her near at all.  Instead of talking, he stared at her face, memorizing the curve of her jaw to the crinkles around her eyes.  Nevertheless, she would not look at him.  She stayed focused on her work, every now and then Jack imagined her touch to be more of a caress, but she showed no outwards signs of distraction.  

Having the broken stitches removed and re-sown was agonizing, made even more uncomfortable by the fact that his palm was already swollen and irritated by the onset of infection.  However, Jack concentrated on the feel of her hand on his, and the warmth and texture of her skin, rather than the discomfort.  

When the stitches were done, she wrapped the wound in clean cloth and turned her attention to the Commodore.  

"Sir."  Despite her outward demeanour of humility, her voice betrayed her real temper.  Jack's stomach clenched with the fear of what she might say next.  He needn't have worried though; she cleared her throat and repeated the word more softly.  "Sir?"  

The Commodore looked up and nodded for her to continue.  

"The wound will need further care if you wish to avoid it becoming septic."  

"What do you suggest?"  

"If it suits, I can return daily with fresh wrappings."  

"That will be acceptable."  

She nodded and left.  

........

The dungeon turned out to be no more fun this time around than any other time he'd been in it.  Of course last time he'd been amongst the steadily dwindling number of Barbossa's crew awaiting their death sentence.  As depressing as it had been to watch man after man be escorted to the gallows not to return, waiting alone proved even worse.  

The Commodore placed him in a cell at the far end of the hall, out of sight to the other prisoners.  Norrington's intentions were probably for the best, but it felt more like a punishment than a consideration.  Not a window or even a crack broke the monotony of his surroundings or offered a hint of fresh air, and the only sounds reaching him came from Sloan cursing at the guards, and the Doctor's mad raving echoing off the stone walls.  At least it seemed Morris Ettie was finally having his fun.

Light barely made its way this far down the hall, and Jack came to measure the days by two events.  One event consisted of an old servant bringing the daily rations and a pitcher of water.  The man never spoke, and never lingered longer than necessary.  The second event was Anamaria coming to tend his wound.  Without fail, two marines accompanied her each time.  She crouched outside his cell while he sat with his arm extended through the bars.  Her touch electrified his skin.  At first, he tried talking to her, just rambling about nothing for as long as she stayed.  He understood that she couldn't answer him, not if her identity was to remain hidden.  After a few days, he discovered that talking only distracted him from her touch, and so he sat with his eyes closed and concentrated on feeling.  He willed these brief visits to last forever, and they never lasted long enough.  

On her last visit, Anamaria did nothing differently, not until the very end.  She stood up, took a couple steps, and then turned back to Jack with an expression fiercer than any he'd ever seen before.  "Bugger the code."  She whispered, and then left.

There were no other visitors.  Norrington came to stand outside his cell later that day.  He came to see if the pirate was well enough for travel, and seeing that yes, the pirate was mending quite well, orders were put forth to transport the prisoner to the ship bound for London.  

Up until this time, Jack held out the hope that his crew would intervene.  That was what Anamaria meant by saying "bugger the code" was it not?  Why else would Norrington arrange to have him sent across the ocean, other than to provide opportunity for the Pearl to rescue him?  He spent hours in that cell going over their conversation, searching for hidden meanings or messages.  Truly, he thought the Commodore meant to arrange something, he remembered James saying that he'd talk to Elizabeth and Will about arrangements, what else could that imply but a plan?  Right?  

At the sight of the ship bound for London, all expectation of rescue died.  It was the Dauntless; the grandest ship in the royal navy, and the most heavily gunned.  All the secret meanings he picked out of his talk with Norrington were fantasy after all.  The Pearl wouldn't stand a chance against the Dauntless in a firefight, and he sincerely hoped Anamaria would be smart enough not to try.


	13. Not yet an end

_Thanks to Jackfan2 for the beta read!!!! School is over forever now, vacations are over. Maybe I can start updating regularly again!!!!_

**Chapter 13, Threats and Broken Promises**

_Bugger the code._ Yes, she meant it. In addition, she meant a lot else by it too. Bugger the code, bugger the law, bugger the Commodore, and bugger Captain Jack Sparrow for getting himself into this mess in the first place. Each day after her visit to tend Jack in his cage, she met with the insufferable pig-headed commodore, and each day they played out the same argument.

The bastard knew Jack had nothing to do with the murders at the teaching school, he admitted it readily, and yet based on Jack's history of villainy the charges remained against him. Not that it would matter even if the charges were removed; Jack had done more than enough to warrant a death sentence.

So that was it then. Elizabeth and Will ate their meals in their cozy home and talked about injustice, and the crew of the Pearl wandered Port Royal creating havoc. This seemed to be as far as anyone got in formulating a plan. The lack of action did not sit well with Anamaria.

The Black Pearl could not attack the Dauntless once it was underway. Well, it very well could attack the Dauntless. It might even win, but not without consequences. Norrington still seemed to be under the impression that he was doing Jack a favour in all this. If the Pearl attacked the Dauntless, Norrington would be hell bent on seeing the crew hanged. There really was no question about his ability to do this; had he not already eradicated the Caribbean to the point where pirates were becoming history?

Anamaria would not allow Jack to become history, or not yet at least. There were several enterprising storytellers out there making fine coin in taverns on his exploits, and she would not allow Jack's story to finish at the end of a rope.

Something would be done.

... But what?

The air felt stagnant and heated on the day Jack stood on the pier with Norrington and numerous other soldiers at his side. Anamaria stood on the shore watching the procession. The hot breeze coming in off the water smelt of dying fish and sweat. It would not do to act too soon. It would also not due to act too late. The thump thumping of her heart in her chest grew fast and loud, so loud she worried others might hear it. Could they not feel her anticipation, and her fear?

If anyone did notice, they didn't seem to care. She was just another woman staring forlornly out to sea. One of many wives, daughters, or mothers seeing their men off on yet another voyage.

It made her stomach ache to think that she would stand on the sidelines in this plot. But her lack of involvement was necessary; her lack of involvement was what would lend credulity to the events about to unfold...

Men are on fishing boats, readying their nets, doing whatever average fishermen do between drinking and babbling. This next part is pivotal to everything that happens afterwards. Two fishermen launch their small boat away from the dock. The action is not suspicious, they are not headed towards the Dauntless, and they are not headed towards the boat that will contain the prisoner. No eyes are on them, no one is watching except Anamaria, and she is trying not to.

The boat is distant, but not too distant. Minutes pass. Jack, resplendent in his rattling chains, is loaded onto a boat with four navy men. They row towards the Dauntless. Nothing is happening.

They are half way there. The boat grows smaller the farther it gets.

And then...

The explosion. It is not meant to be devastating. It is meant to divert attention, and it works. Everyone's interest is drawn toward the burning debris. What has happened? How? Why?

The why of it seems obvious to the Commodore standing on the dock. He is screaming something at his men. Through the commotion on land, no one hears him. He is jumping and waving like a mad man, his men aren't even looking in his direction. No one sees him. No one, except for Norrington, seems to see the object floating towards the long boat. Norrington knows what it is.

It is an unimaginative ruse. Nevertheless, it is working and that is what counts. The distraction has worked. The thing floating ever closer is nothing more spectacular than a barrel. It bumps the edge of the long boat- and the soldiers are surprised, they expected an attack from the opposite direction. This is not an attack; it is only a barrel, isn't it?

This is where things can get sticky. Anamaria waits anxiously. She is holding her breath. Nothing happens. That is the illusion that must be upheld, this lack of intent. The soldiers start moving a bit anxiously. There are shouts. The boat is getting low in the water, it is sinking, and in one fluid motion, it dumps its passengers over the side as it disappears all together.

There are four heads bobbing in the water, clutching at the floating barrel. Four navy men, there is no prisoner. Not any more. The chains around his wrists and ankles weighed him down. He sank. This conclusion is the obvious one.

The water here in the harbour is not clear the way that Caribbean water is fabled to be. It is murky, polluted, and dark. The prisoner is gone. It is assumed that the prisoner is dead.

The aftermath is anti-climactic. There is a futile search. No one expects to find a body, not with the chains weighting it down.

Nothing is found.

Anamaria is questioned. She is upset. Norrington displays sympathy, the questions he asks are gentle compared to what they could be. The interview ends with the appearance of Elizabeth Turner, she has come to offer comfort. She has come to take Anamaria home with her, so that she may rest. It has been a long and sad day. Everyone is tired.

TBC


	14. the last chapter

**The Last Chapter**

"So tha's it? I'm dead?"

"More or less." Will selected a suitably sharp spike to wedge between the links of Jack's shackles.

"Lesser so than more, I'd hope." The pirate replied sourly. "An' what am I supposed to do about Captaining the Pearl, seeing as I'm now of the lately deceased?"

"Retire?"

The suggestion didn't please, if the expression on Jack's face could be trusted. The scowl didn't fade even after Will broke the iron. Once free, the pirate rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms in an effort to get the kinks out of his muscles.

"So then, this deal Anamaria made with the Commodore about me staying dead- she ain't expecting me to keep it is she?"

The door creaked on its hinges as it swung inwards and Anamaria came into the shop with Elizabeth right behind her. "What deal?"

Jack didn't miss the desperate expression going from the blacksmith to his first mate. So that was how they wished to play their cards now was it? Young Turner would have to learn to a lot more cunning if he wished to pull one over on old Jack.

"Oh, that deal." A slight roll of the eyes and Jack knew at least Anamaria wasn't in on the ruse. Apparently, she had other things on her mind, as Jack found himself all but pounced upon a moment later.

"Not bad for a corpse, eh?" The joke only earned him a cuff to the head. Elizabeth laughed though, so he felt vindicated that at least someone had the good judgment to find his sense of humour to be humorous. Unless it was the cuff on the head she was laughing at...

No matter. If felt too good to be out of the damn shackles, and the damn prison, and far enough away from the pride of the damn British Navy (none other than the Dauntless) that he didn't expect to be hauled up onto it at any moment.

"So this deal the boy was telling me about," Jack wound his arm around Anamaria's waist. Leaning in close, he continued, "I was thinking it might be time t' pass on the hat, so to speak."

Just as he'd intended, Will and Elizabeth heard and he turned back to face them, "Now that I'm dead," he added attempting to look solemn, "there's the matter of a certain ship lacking a Captain. Seems only right the boy should inherit the honour. If I recall, he made a decent pirate during the whole cursed gold thing. Seems only right t' pass the ship on to him, with the matter of pirate in the blood and all."

The look passing between the young couple was worth at least its weight in gold. "Course, the whelp'll be needin' a first mate. Havin' a woman on board worked well enough for me, I'm sure 'e could find one in Tortuga."

Will left no time for anyone to contemplate that comment. "Now Jack, I don't see why a little thing like being dead should keep you from your ship. I mean, it's not like you haven't been dead before, right?" And Jack could only frown slightly at the possible truth behind the words.

"Undoubtedly." Elizabeth chimed in. "A ship's no place for a baby anyhow."

"Ah, I'd wondered how long it would take the two of you to start multiplying." Jack looked at Anamaria with narrowed eyes; the question of yet another bun in the oven still not quite resolved. He didn't want to come right out and ask or anything obvious like that. He was, in fact, at least ninety percent certain there was no pregnancy complicating his side of things. "Not that being a father would be that terrible of luck but-"

Another sigh escaped Anamaria. "Not going to happen." She stated firmly.

That brightened Jack's mood considerably. "Well then, I guess we'd best be on our way back to the Pearl." With Anamaria at his side, and eager to be back at sea as soon as possible, Jack edged his way towards the exit. Then, Anamaria dug her heels in and the two halted.

"I sent the Pearl to Tortuga." Ana informed.

"And that leaves us with?" Jack asked.

Anamaria smiled wickedly. "What do you think Jack?"

"The orange one?"

"Aye. The orange one." She answered, referring to her own little sailing boat.

It took only a moment before the Pirate Captain began to smile at the prospect as well. After all, an excursion on the dread orange monstrosity belonging to his first mate wasn't exactly the end of the world. And a lot could happen on the way to Tortuga...alone on a boat with... Anamaria.

_Until next time,_

_Cheers, Rat_


End file.
